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hamliet · 4 years ago

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The Crows Summon the Sun

Or, Hamliet’s review of Shadow & Bone, which gets a 4.5/5 for enjoyment and a 3.5/5 in terms of writing.

The true heroes of this story and the saviors of the show are the Crows. However, the problem is that the show then has an uneven feel, because the strength of the Crows plotline highlights the weaknesses of the trilogy storyline. But imo, overall, the strengths overshadow (#punintended) the weaknesses.

I’ll divide the review into the narrative and the technical (show stuff, social commentary), starting with narrative.

Narrative: The Good

It’s What The Crows Deserve

I went into the show watching it for the Crows; however, knowing that their storyline was intended to be a prequel, I wasn’t terribly optimistic. And while it is a prequel, the characters have complete and full arcs that perfectly set them up for the further development they will have in the books (which I think should be the next season?). Instead of retreading the arcs they’d have in the books, which is how prequels usually go, they had perfect set up for these arcs. It’s really excellent.

Jesper, Inej, and Kaz are all allowed to be flawed, to have serious conflicts with one another, and yet to love each other. They feel like a found family in the best of ways. Kaz is the perfect selfish rogue; he’s a much more successfully executed Byronic hero than the Darkling, actually. Inej is heroic and her faith is not mocked, yet she too is flawed and her choices are not always entirely justified, but instead left to the audience to ponder (like killing the girl), which is a more mature writing choice that I appreciated.

Jesper is charming, has a heart of gold despite being a murderer and on the surface fairly greedy, and MILO THE EMOTIONAL SUPPORT GOAT WAS THE BEST THING EVER. I also liked Jesper’s fling with Dima but I felt it could be better used rather than merely establishing his sexuality, like if Jesper and Dima had seen each other one more time or something had come of their tryst for the plot/themes/development of Jesper.

Nina and Matthias’s backstory being in the first season, instead of in flashbacks, really works because it automatically erases any discomfort of the implications of Nina having falsely accused Matthias that the books start with. We know Nina, we know Matthias, we know their motivations, backgrounds, and why they feel the way we do. It’ll be easy for the audience to root for them without a lot of unnecessary hate springing from misunderstanding Nina (since she’s my favorite). Matthias’s arc was also really strongly executed and satisfyingly tragic. Their plotline was a bit unfortunately disconnected from the rest of the story, but Danielle Gallagan and Callahan Skogman have absolutely sizzling chemistry so I found myself looking forward to their scenes instead of feeling distracted. Also? It’s nice seeing a woman with Nina’s body type as a romantic and powerful character.

Hamliet Likes Malina Now

Insofar as the trilogy storyline goes, the best change the show made was Mal. He still is the same character from the books, but much more likable. The pining was... a lot (too much in episode 4, I felt) but Malina is a ship I actually enjoyed in the show while I NOTP’d it in the books. Mal has complexity and layers to his motivations (somewhat) and a likable if awkward charm. Archie Renaux was fantastic.

Ben Barnes is the perfect Aleksandr Kirigan, and 15 year old me, who had the biggest of big crushes on Ben Barnes (first celebrity crush over a decade ago lol), was pretty damn happy lol. He’s magnificantly acted--sympathetic and terrifying, sincerely caring and yet villainous in moments. Story-wise, I think it was smart to reveal his name earlier on than in the books, because it helps with the humanization especially in a visual medium like film. Luda was a fitting (if heartbreaking) backstory, but it is also hard for me to stomach knowing what the endgame of his character is. Like... I get the X-men fallacy thing, but I hope the show gives more kindness to his character than the books did, yet I’m afraid to hold my breath. Just saying that if you employ save the cat, if you directly say you added this part (Luda) to make the character more likable (as the director did) please do not punish the audience for feeling what you intended.

I also liked the change that made Alina half-Shu. It adds well to her arc and fits with her character, actually giving her motivations (she kinda just wants to be ordinary in a lot of ways) a much more interesting foundation than in the books. Also it’s nice not to have another knock-off Daenerys (looking to you Celaena and book!Alina). Jessie Mei Li does a good job playing Alina’s insecurities and emotions, but...

Narrative: The Ehhhhhhh

Alina the Lamp

Sigh. Here we go. Alina has little consistent characterization. She’s almost always passive when we see her, yet she apparently punches an officer for calling her a name and this seems to be normal for her, but it doesn’t fit at all with what we know about her thus far. Contradictions are a part of humanity, but it’s never given any focus, so it comes across as inconsistent instead of a flaw or repression.

I have no idea what Alina wants, beside that she wants to be with Mal, which is fine except I have no idea what the basis of their bond is. Even with like, other childhood friends to lovers like Ren/Nora in RWBY or Eren/Mikasa in SnK, there’s an inciting moment, a reason, that we learn very early on in their story to show us what draws them together. Alina and Mal just don’t have that. There’s the meadow/running away thing, but they were already so close, and why? Why, exactly? What brought them together? The term “bullies” is thrown around but it isn’t ever explored and it needed to be this season. If I have to deal with intense pining for so many episodes at least give me a foundation for their devotion. You need to put this in the beginning, in the first season. You just do.

A “lamp” character is a common metaphor to describe a bad character: essentially, you could replace the character with a lamp and nothing changes. Considering Alina’s gift is light, it’s a funnily apt metaphor, but it really does apply. Her choices just don’t... matter. She could be a special lamp everyone is fighting over and almost nothing would change. The ironic thing is that everyone treating her like a fancy lamp is exactly the conflict, but it’s never delved into. We’re never shown that Alina is more than a lamp. She never has to struggle because her choices are made for her and information is gifted to her when she needs it. Not making choices protects Alina from consequences and the story gives her little incentive to change that; in fact, things tend to turn out better when she doesn’t make choices (magic stags will arrive).

Like... let’s look at a few occasions when Alina almost or does make choices. For example, she chooses to (it seems) sleep with Kirigan, but then there’s a convenient knock at the door and Bhagra arrives with key information that changes Alina’s mind instantly despite the fact that Bhagra’s been pretty terrible to her. If you want to write a woman realizing she’s been duped by a cruel man, show her discovering it instead of having the man’s abusive mother tell her when she had absolutely no such suspicions beforehand. There’s no emotional weight there because Alina doesn’t struggle.

When she is actually allowed to carry out a bad choice, the consequences are handwaved away instead of built into a challenge for her. Like... Alina got her friends killed. More than once. I’m not saying she’s entirely to blame for these but could we show her reacting to it? Feeling any sort of grief? She never mentions Raisa or Alexei after they’re gone, just Mal, and I’m... okay. They were there because of you. Aren’t you feeling anything? Aren’t you sad? The only time Alina brings up her friends’ deaths is to tell Kirigan he killed her friends when they were only there because she burned the maps. She yells at Kirigan for “never” giving her a choice, but she almost never makes any, so why would he? Alina has the gall to lecture Genya about choices, but she herself almost never has to make any.

Which brings me to another complaint in general: Alina’s lack of care for everyone around her when they’re not Mal, even if they care for her. Marie dies because of her (absolutely not her fault of course) but as far as we know she never even learns about Marie. She certainly doesn’t ever ask about her or Nadia. Alina seems apathetic at best to people, certainly not compassionate or kind.

The frustrating thing is that there is potential here. Like, it actually makes a lot of psychological sense for an orphan who has grown up losing to be reluctant to care for people outside of her orbit and that she would struggle to believe she can have any say in her destiny (ie make choices). It’s also interesting that a girl who feels like an outsider views others outside her. But the show never offers examines Alina’s psychology with any depth; it simply tells us she’s compassionate when she is demonstrably not, it tells us she makes decisions when it takes magical intervention to do so. It’s a missed opportunity. This does not change between episodes 1 and 8, despite the episodes’ parallel structures and scenes, which unintentionally reinforces that Alina had little real development.

Inej and ironically Jesper and Kaz embody the concept of “mercy” far better and with far more complexity than Alina does. The Crows have reactions to the loss of people who even betray them (Arken, etc), learn, and course-correct (or don’t) when they are even loosely involved in having strangers die. They’re good characters because they change and learn and have their choices matter. When they kill we see them wrestle with it and what this means even if they are accustomed to doing so. Jesper can’t kill in front of a child. Kaz wonders what his killings do to Inej’s idea of him.

Narrative: The Mixed Bag

Tropes, Themes, Telling vs. Showing

So the show’s themes in the Alina storyline are a mess, as they are in the trilogy too. Tropes are a very valuable way to show your audience what you’re trying to say. They’re utilized worldwide because they resonate with people and we know what to expect from them. The Crows' storyline shows us what it wants us to learn.

Preaching tells, and unfortunately, the trilogy relies on telling/preaching against fornicationBad Boys. It’s your right to write any trope or trample any trope you want--your story--but you should at least understand what/why you are doing so. The author clearly knows enough about Jungian shadows and dark/light yin/yang symbolism to use it in the story, but then just handwaves it away as “I don’t like this” but never does so in a narratively effective way: addressing the appeal in the first place. If you really wanna deconstruct a trope, you gotta empathize with the core of the reason these tropes appeal to people (it allays deep fears that we are ourselves unlovable, through loving another person despite how beastly they can be), and address this instead of ignoring it. Show us a better way through the Fold of your story. Don’t just go around it and ignore the issue.

The trilogy offers highly simplistic themes at best--bad boy bad and good boy good, which is fine-ish for kid lit but less fine for adult complexity, which the show (more so than the books) seems to try to push despite not actually having much of it.

Alina and Mal are intended to be good, we’re told they are, but I’m not sure why beyond just that we’re told so. Alina claims the stag chose her, but in the show it’s never explained why at all. Unlike with Kaz, Inej, Jesper, and hell even Matthias and Nina, we don’t see Alina or Mal’s complex choices and internal wrestling.

Like, Inej’s half-episode where she almost killed the guy they needed was far more character exploration than Alina has the entire show, to say nothing of Inej’s later killing which not only makes her leaps and bounds more interesting, but ironically cements her as a far more compelling and yes, likable, heroine than Alina. We see Inej’s emotional and moral conflict. We can relate to her. We see Kaz struggling with his selfishness and regrets, with his understanding of himself through his interactions with and observations of Inej, Alina, the Darkling, Arken, and Jesper.

We don’t explore what makes Mal or Alina good and what makes them bad. We don’t know what Alina discovers about herself, what her power means for her. We are told they are good, we are told she knows her power is hers, but never shown what this means or what this costs them/her. Their opportunities to be good are handed to them (the stag, Bhagra) instead of given to them as a challenge in which they risk things, in which doing good or making a merciful choice costs them. Alina gets to preach about choices without ever making any; Inej risks going back to the Menagerie to trust Kaz. Her choices risk. They cost. They matter and direct her storyline and her arc, and those of the people around her.

Production Stuff:

The Good:

The production overall is quite excellent. The costumes, pacing, acting, and cinematography (for example, one of the earliest scenes between the Darkling and Alina has Alina with her back to the light, face covered in his shadow, while the Darkling’s face is light up by her light even if he stands in the shadows) are top-notch. The soundtrack as well is incredible and emphasizes the scenes playing. The actors have great chemistry together, friend chemistry and romantic when necessary (Mal and Alina, the Darkling and Alina, Kaz and Inej, Nina and Matthias, David and Genya, etc.) All are perfectly cast.

The Uncomfortable Technicalities Hamliet Wants to Bitch About:

The only characters from fantasy!Europe having any trace of an accent reminiscent of said fantasy country's real-world equivalent are antagonists like Druskelle (Scandinavia) and Pekka (Ireland). When the heroes mostly have British accents despite being from fantasy Russia and Holland, it is certainly A Choice to have the Irish accent emphasized. The actor is British by the way, so I presume he purposely put on an Irish accent. I'm sure no one even considered the potential implications of this but it is A Look nonetheless.

The Anachronisms Hamliet Has a Pet Peeve About:

The worldbuilding is compelling, but the only blight on the worldbuilding within the story itself (ignoring context) was that there are some anachronisms that took me out of the story, particularly in the first episode where “would you like to share with the class” and “saved by the horn” are both used. Both are modern-day idioms in English that just don’t fit, especially the latter. The last episode uses “the friends we made along the way.” There are other modern idioms as well.

IT’S STARKOVA and Other Pet Peeves Around the Russian Portrayal

Russian names are not hard, and Russian naming systems are very, very easy to learn. I could have waved “Starkov” not being “Starkova,” “Nazyalensky” not being “Nazyalenskaya,” and “Safin” not being “Safina” as an American interpretation (since in America, the names do not femininize). However, “Mozorova” as a man is unfathomable and suggests to me the author just doesn’t understand how names work, which is a bit... uh okay considering a simple google search gets you to understand Russian names. They aren’t hard. I cannot understand why the show did not fix this. It is so simple to fix and would be a major way to help the story’s overall... caricature of Russia.

Speaking of that... Ravka is supposedly Russian-based, but it is more accurately based on the stereotypes of what Americans think of Russia. Amerussia? Russica? Not great.

The royals are exactly what Americans think of the Romanovs, right down to the “greasy” “spiritual advisor” who is clearly Rasputin and which ignores the Romanov history, very real tragedy, and the reason Rasputin was present in the court. The religion with all its saints is a vapid reflection of Russian Orthodoxy. The military portrayal with its lotteries and brutality and war is how the US views the Russian military. The emphasis on orphans, constant starvation, classification, and children being ripped from their homes to serve the government is a classic US understanding of USSR communism right down to the USSR having weapons of destruction the rest of the world fears (Grisha). Not trying to defend the Soviet Union here at all, but it is simplistic and reductive and probably done unconsciously but still ehhhh.

However, I’m not Russian. I just studied Russian literature. I’ve seen very little by way of discussion of this topic online, but what I do see from Russian people has been mixed--some mind, some don’t. The reality is that I actually don’t really mind this because it’s fantasy, though I see why some do. I'm not like CANCEL THIS. So why am I talking about this beyond just having a pet peeve?

Well, because it is a valid critique, and because it doesn’t occur in a vacuum. The Grishaverse is heralded as an almost paragon for woke Young Adult literature, which underlines itself what so frustrates me about how literary circles discuss issues of diversity and culture. Such praise, while ignoring its quasi-caricature of Russia, reflects a very ethnocentric (specifically American) understanding of culture, appropriation, and representation. All stories are products of their culture to various extents, but it bothers me on principle what the lit community reacts (and overreacts sometimes?) to and what people give a pass to. The answer to what the community reacts to and what it gives a pass always pivots on how palatable the appropriation is to American understandings and sensibilities. There’s nuance here as well, though.

I'm not cancelling the story or thinking it should be harshly attacked for this, but it is something that can be discussed and imo should be far more often--but with the nuance it begs, instead of black/white. But that’s a tall ask.

#s&b #hamliet reviews #shadow and bone #six of crows #kanej #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #alina starkov #malyen oretsev #the darkling #darklina #malina #aleksander kirigan #netflix shadow and bone #s&b review

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

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[CN] Gavin’s Blessings Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 祝福之约, which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This date was released on 28 April 2021 ]

In this desert, there are two legendary figures.

One is a young girl blessed by God, and the other is a bandit who strikes terror in people.

God will bestow the most valuable riches in the world to the young girl in the future, which makes everyone want to own her for themselves.

There is only one person who has absolutely no interest in her -

The bandit who has already seized all the gold, silver and jewels.

On this gloomy night, scorching heat seems to cover every inch of land.

A crowd is packed into the cage of a horse-drawn carriage. Lowering my head, I tighten the scarf on my neck.

All of a sudden, the carriage halts outside a large gate.

Bodyguard: We want to make a transaction with your chief, and we guarantee that you'd be satisfied.

Along with the gradual opening of the gate, what enters my vision is a high wall made of clay, and what looks to be a heavy guarded campground.

The carriage passes through a long sheltered corridor, halting in front of a large bonfire. After that, the slave owner pulls us down from the carriage roughly.

The slave owner before me is someone who commands great respect, and relies on human trafficking to earn huge amounts of money.

Slave owner: Gavin, I’ll go straight to the point.

Hearing the rumoured name, I lift my head towards the man seated on a chair.

Amber eyes reflect the flickering flames, shrouding a strong, dangerous aura.

He leans against the back of the chair, his taut clothes drawing the outline of his figure, revealing faintly discernible muscles.

He gives me a cold glance, then shifts his somewhat arrogant gaze away.

...this person is Gavin.

In this land, there’s nobody who doesn’t know him -

It’s been said that he has a magic carpet that can go up to heaven and down to Hades. It’s also been said that it’s simply a guise for his extraordinary power of wind control.

Not only that. For many years, he’s been stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, and is a thorn that can’t be pulled out from the hearts of the powerful.

Just as I’m thinking about this, the slave owner tears down my scarf, gripping my neck forcefully.

Slave owner: See this mark? She’s MC, the young girl blessed by God.

Young girl blessed by God?

Watching the desperate slave owner and Gavin in front of him, I force out a laugh.

Ten years ago, this inborn mark was bestowed meaning by a well-known wizard -

Wizard (in a flashback): Ten years later, our God will give her the most valuable riches.

Since then, I became the “treasure map” that everyone wanted, leading a life of being continuously captured and escaping.

Slave owner: Gavin, as long as you leave me alone in the future, she belongs to you.

Only the quiet sound of the burning bonfire is in the air, filled with a great sense of oppression.

Supporting his head with his right hand, he appears to turn a deaf ear to what the slave owner said.

Slave owner: Ten days later, the blessings will manifest! Riches might appear in an unending stream, and by then, you can do whatever you want!

Gavin: You travelled all the way here... to make me let you go?

A chilly wind suddenly disperses the sultriness of the surroundings. His slightly narrowed eyes are a contrast to the flames behind him, not at all masking his annoyance and derision.

The powerful aura assaults the senses, and the tips of my toes subconsciously shift backwards.

The reason why I allowed myself to be captured by the slave owner was to beat him at his own game, and get close to Gavin. But would I really be able to obtain information from such a powerful man?

A sense of unease surfaces, but I quickly suppress it.

The king said that as long as I helped him get rid of Gavin, I could obtain eternal freedom -

I have to give it a try.

Moonlight and flames intertwine and are reflected on Gavin’s face. Alarm surfaces on the slave owner’s face.

With forced hearty laughter, he tosses me aside. Respectfully, he fills Gavin’s cup to the brim with wine.

Slave owner: I’m sincerely here to do business with you.

Gavin glances at the wine glass by the side. With a curl of his lips, he picks up the glass, swaying it slowly.

He lowers his head and lifts his eyes slightly, the light in his pupils distinct.

But in the next second, he turns his wrist. The strong scent of alcohol diffuses in an instant.

Gavin: This wine is a little dirty. When you walked through this gate, you should have known what would happen.

The moment Gavin speaks, his men immediately surround the slave owner and his group.

Slave owner: ...you! Doing this just means both sides lose!

The corners of Gavin’s lips arch upwards, and there are hints of arrogance in his eyes.

Gavin: You seem to have forgotten one fact. I won’t lose.

After the final drop of wine slides off the glass, he releases his hand, and the wine glass strikes the table.

Along with a muffled sound, Gavin brandishes a scimitar and waves it at the feudal lord.

[Note] A scimitar is a short sword with a curved blade that broadens towards the point :>

The sharp blade reflects cold light as it brushes the nape of the slave owner’s neck. Gavin keeps his eyes fixed steadily behind the slave owner.

Gavin: Remember this. I never have to get the things I want through transactions. Get out of my campground.

The feudal lord doesn’t care about anything else, tumbling and stumbling out of the gate along with the bodyguard.

Peace is restored to the campground. A row of us are unshackled one after the other.

After attaining freedom, continuous sounds of appreciation can be heard from the crowd. However, I secretly glance at Gavin, who is afar off.

When everyone else has left, I brisk walk over to him.

MC: My name is MC. Gavin, I want to join you all!

The clamour suddenly stills. Only Gavin lifts his head unaffectedly.

Gavin: Why?

MC: Once I leave this place, I’d just get captured again. Everyone says that you’re the most powerful and most incredible person in the world, so this would be the safest place...

Gavin: This place isn’t a shelter. And I have no need to guarantee your safety.

Gavin interrupts me, his gaze focused on the rag used to wipe the blood off the blade’s tip.

MC: I won’t freeload. If my blessings manifest, I can give it all to you!

Gavin shoots a sharp gaze at me, lingering on my neck briefly before shifting it away.

Gavin: The root of your “so-called” blessings is merely empty talk.

MC: But that wizard said...

Gavin: So what if he’s a wizard? I’ve never pursued such illusory things. Such blessings might simply be a joke for the greedy. As far as I’m concerned, you don’t seem useful to my campground. So, MC, I don’t need you.

Gavin’s words nail me in place. He looks at me directly, and I can tell from his eyes that he has absolutely no regard for the blessings, as well as my presence.

For so many years, I’ve been a treasure map in the hearts of people, and a glittering treasure.

But in his eyes, it’s as though I’m not a young girl who was blessed by God. I’m simply MC.

Even if the prophecy said that the riches would manifest ten years later, those who are greedy would think that might just be the beginning, which is why everyone has been coveting this fantastic wealth.

But nobody has ever been like Gavin, telling me that it could be false.

My heart involuntarily quivers, as though something that I’ve always firmly believed in is beginning to stir.

I take a deep breath, brushing away the restlessness in my heart.

Whether or not I’m taking action according to plan, staying here is still the best choice.

I definitely have to stay.

MC: I’m not useless. Since young, I often get hurt while running away, so I’m very good at tending to wounds! Please give me a chance. I can prove myself!

He doesn’t speak, and simply looks at me quietly. Those amber eyes are deep with flittering light, as though he can see through me in an instant.

I clench my fists secretly, trying my best to look natural.

After an oppressive silence, he lifts his chin slightly. One of his men walks to me.

After I’ve finished bandaging all the injured people in the campground, I look at Gavin sincerely.

Gavin: Since you want to stay here so badly, I won’t stop you.

MC: Thank you. I just want to stay alive.

Those amber eyes narrow slightly when he hears this. Only the spluttering sounds of the burning wood remain in the air.

Gavin: In order to stay alive, you don’t care about anything else?

MC: ...yes.

All of a sudden, rapid footsteps can be heard from the gate. One of Gavin’s men leans over to him, and says something that I can’t hear.

Gavin glances at me, an unreadable smile flashing across his eyes. I stand in place, my heart feeling prickly.

Gavin: Go ahead. There aren’t any “outsiders” here.

The man nods respectfully. Straightening up, he faces the crowd.

Man: The Oasis Flower Garden that the new king ordered to be constructed has been completed ahead of schedule. The location of the coronation ceremony has been changed to the flower garden. Various neighbouring countries have also prepared countless treasures, and will be presenting them during the coronation ceremony.

After a moment of silence, a ray of sharp light flashes in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: Let’s go to the flower garden.

MC: Hang on, you’re going to steal the king’s objects?

Hearing information regarding the king, I can’t help but exclaim softly.

Gavin doesn’t seem to care about important information being disclosed, which makes me feel even more uneasy.

Is he very assured about his own plan, or is he suspicious of me, and deliberately wants to see my reaction?

Gavin: Is there a problem?

MC: ...n-no.

Gavin: Since the plan has been changed, we need to check out the flower garden beforehand. Those who know how to draw maps, step out.

His men look around at each other, none of them volunteering to step out. Looking at the silent surroundings, a risky idea formulates in my mind.

If I’m able to check out the area with them, I could find an opportune moment to tip the king off.

With this thought in mind, I take a step forward.

MC: ...I can. I’m very attuned to directions. As long as I walk through it once, I can remember everything.

In order to prove my point, I pick up a twig and draw the path I took earlier in the sand.

When I’ve finished drawing the details of the campground, the men reveal shocked expressions.

A sense of inquisitiveness even appears in Gavin’s eyes.

Gavin: When the time comes, I’ll send someone to the flower garden with you. But this place has never limited anyone’s freedom. You can leave whenever you want.

Gavin’s words seem indicate something. After speaking, he turns around and leaves. Meanwhile, my heart, which had been hanging in the air, is finally set down.

I’m officially responsible for the logistics work in the campground.

Based on my observations over the past two days, Gavin would head out with his men, then return from a rewarding journey.

He distributes the money strictly, ensuring that they are given out fairly to those who are in need and poverty-stricken.

Today, the night has just set in. As usual, Gavin returns with his troop.

He stands among the crowd calmly, but his brows furrow at certain times. Realising something, I carry the medical kit and walk towards him.

MC: Gavin, did you get hurt?

Gavin: I'm fine. Go help the others.

MC: In that case, pull open your clothes and let me have a look.

Gavin: ...

MC: Many people who need assistance are waiting for you. If you’re really injured, I could help to heal your wound much more quickly.

After giving me a deep look, he finally sits down, pulling open his clothes.

Underneath his clothes, aside from wounds oozing with blood, I can also see various scars.

MC: Some wounds wouldn’t leave scars if tended to properly.

Gavin: I don’t have the time to tend to every single wound.

He speaks casually, as though these scars are unrelated to him.

Seeing him like this, the guilt deep in my heart seems to tear me apart indistinctly.

Perhaps these mottled wounds have given hope and direction to countless people.

With no idea how to face such emotions, I simply tend to his wounds carefully.

MC: You’ve worked hard.

Gavin: It isn’t hard work. Life is meant to be difficult.

His voice is calm. I can sense that his somewhat scrutinising gaze is focused on me.

But I don’t have the courage to lift my head.

Eventually, the people in the campground start to get used to me tending to their wounds, including Gavin.

We’re much more familiar with each other as compared to a few days ago. Occasionally, we’d even engage in conversation.

MC: ...don’t you have a magic carpet or something? Why are your injuries so serious this time?

Gavin: There was a trap.

MC: They obviously did bad things, but not only did they not feel guilty, but also schemed against you?

Gavin: My life is worth a lot of money to many people.

Gavin speaks lightly, and a disdainful smile appears on his lips.

Gavin: It doesn’t matter. They won’t succeed.

I purse my lips, subconsciously exerting less force.

MC: Please be more careful next time, and don’t add on to my workload.

Being directly glared at by me, Gavin feels a little uneasy, his eyes subconsciously averting to the side.

Gavin: ...I’ll do my best.

Over the next few days, he truly doesn’t get injured again. But because of this, I have fewer opportunities to meet him.

For some inexplicable reason, I start finding all sorts of reasons to meet Gavin -

Making sweet snacks, handing over supplies... I use everything that can create a connection between us.

Maybe it’s just a misperception, but I can always capture a subtle emotion in his eyes.

Those nice-looking eyes affect my heart involuntarily.

Until one day, when he returns and walks past me, straight towards his room. I hurriedly follow behind him, burrowing sideways through the doors that are about to close.

MC: Why did you start avoiding me once you returned? Did you get hurt!

Gavin: ...no.

Without a word, I hurriedly sweep my eyes over Gavin. When I catch sight of the traces of blood on his waist, I lift my head to glare at him.

Gavin: ...

Under my gaze, he averts his eyes a little awkwardly.

Gavin: [totally not lying] Cough. Oh, turns out I got injured. I just realised. I’ll have to trouble you to tend to it.

Before I even open my mouth, he hurriedly stifles the words I’m about to say.

I release a sigh, reaching out to open the medical kit. I suddenly think of something.

MC: I heard that a child hit you with a stone yesterday?

Gavin: It’s just a trivial matter.

MC: That’s not what I’m referring to... you probably don’t feel good, do you. You’re obviously helping them, but you’re treated as a bad person.

Gavin: It’s very normal for me to be treated as a bad person.

MC: But you aren’t one!

After blurting this out, I lower my eyes unnaturally.

I suddenly feel warm breaths. Lifting my head, my vision is overtaken by him.

Gavin: Then what am I?

MC: I... just think that you’ve done so many good things, and shouldn’t be misunderstood.

[Note] If I were the writer, I'd make MC say: “You’re my boyfriend from another universe where you’re a sexy special agent from STF and we go through lots of angst together like the time you left me alone in the Ferris wheel during that one date.” And then I’d get fired.

A peculiar emotion flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t continue, and he stares out the window.

Gavin: Pack up your things later. You’re heading out tonight.

Realising that he’s referring to checking out the flower garden, I’m stunned for a moment.

It seems that these relaxed and comfortable days have made me forget my goal from the beginning.

When I return to the central area of the campground, I discover that Gavin is standing there.

MC: Didn't you say that you’d be sending someone to the flower garden with me?

Gavin: I changed my mind.

A flying carpet hovers in front of me, leaving me dumbfounded on the spot.

Gavin: Scared?

MC: I-it’s fine. It’s just that I’ve never seen a magic carpet, and I don't know...

Before I finish speaking, my feet are off the ground as Gavin takes me into his arms.

It’s as though the scorching heat of his fingertips are able to melt me. Only the sounds of the wind and my heartbeat remain in the entire world.

Gavin: There’s no need to overthink. Just be careful not to fall off.

Gavin leaps up, sitting steadily on the carpet.

With my face red, I prepare to shift away from him. The carpet soars towards the sky, and the frightening sense of weightlessness makes me involuntarily grab onto his waist.

MC: Hang on! Could you let me sit properly before flying!

What I get in response is a soft chuckle, carrying with it some mischievousness.

Gavin: If you don’t want to fall off, hold tight.

After the wind rustles at my ear for a long time, we finally descend at the destination. Without even taking a few steps, I suddenly hear the sound of disciplined footsteps in the vicinity.

At the same time when I turn to Gavin in a panic, he pulls me behind a stone pillar nearby.

The stone pillar isn’t large, and we’re forced to stick together.

Because we’re pressed so closely together, his breath is akin to a gentle feather, brushing my face.

The itch causes me to tremble involuntarily. Gavin hurriedly reaches out to wrap me in his arms.

Gavin: Don’t move.

A soft command drifts to my ear, and I can only nod stiffly.

When the nearby footsteps disappear, I release a breath and prepare to leave. However, he turns around, pressing me against the stone pillar.

Gavin: Are you deliberately trying to get discovered?

MC: Of course... not! It’s because what you did was very ticklish!

I retort softly. In order to prove my point, I stick close to him, vigorously inhaling and exhaling through my nose.

MC: You find it ticklish too, don’t you!

In an instant, our breaths seem to intertwine, and an inexplicable heat secretly climbs up the back of my ears.

Gavin averts his eyes unnaturally, and he releases the hands propped on the wall.

Gavin: Let’s go. There isn’t much time left.

Beneath the clear and tender moonlight, the gentle night breeze and his reddened ears are especially obvious.

Fortunately, the second half goes smoothly. We walk around the flower garden meticulously before returning to the campground.

The moment my feet stand steadily on the ground, I use the excuse of drawing the map to run swiftly back into my room.

Staring at the blank sheet of paper, the pen in my hand doesn’t descend for a very long time.

...am I really going to continue with this?

[Note] Imagine if Gavin actually just wanted to go on a date with MC but didn’t know how to broach the topic because he’s Awkward™ so he decided to take her on a romantic stroll by “chEcKinG out tHE FlOwEr GarDEn”

Ever since returning from the flower garden, I especially cherish the few days I have left of this peaceful life.

While chatting with the men, I unintentionally learnt that all of them used to be bodyguards in the palace. And Gavin was their leader.

As for why they became bandits... looking at their solemn expressions, I didn’t continue probing.

I decide to focus all my energy on the map, treating it as a small “atonement”.

But my progress is even slower than imagined, and I only manage to complete it the day before the operation.

Stepping outside with the map, I see a familiar figure on the roof.

Struck with an idea, I shift a ladder over and prepare to climb up. However, because it isn’t tall enough, I end up pausing awkwardly mid-air.

MC: ...

Just when I’m wondering if I should call out to Gavin, the flying carpet suddenly appears near my feet.

After a moment of hesitation, I climb onto it in a sorry state. Gavin’s figure gradually appears in my vision.

Illuminated by the moonlight, he props himself up indolently, indistinct arches appearing at the corners of his lips.

MC: The map has been drawn.

Gavin: You’ve worked hard.

Just as I’m about to turn around to leave, the sky filled with stars enters my eyes. The stars sparkle in succession.

MC: ...could I stay here for a little longer?

Gavin: Here, nobody can meddle with you. You're free to do whatever you want.

Free... Hearing this term subconsciously makes me feel startled. In my peripheral vision, a shooting star soars past the sky.

MC: Ah, a star is falling!

I’m pleasantly surprised by the sight I’ve never seen before, but realise that Gavin’s brows are tightly knit.

MC: You don’t seem to want to see this sight?

He looks at me, his shining golden eyes turning a little dim.

MC: ...it’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it. After all, everyone has secrets they aren’t willing to share.

Gavin: Secrets?

MC: Mm. That’s why life is so tough. It’s because secrets are difficult to talk about, yet they refuse to release their grip.

Gavin: I don’t have any secrets.

Gavin says this bluntly, looking at me.

Gavin: That shooting star earlier has a lot of meaning behind it.

The lights and shadows in Gavin’s eyes stir, leaving me unable to identify the emotions within them.

After a moment of silence, his voice drifts to my ear again.

Gavin: An elder once told me that no matter what one does, the stars are able to see it. But if a shooting star were to appear in the sky, it meant that it faded away because it saw too much evil.

Even though his tone doesn’t change much, I can vaguely sense something.

Gavin: Which is why I changed from leader of the bodyguards to a bandit.

I’m stunned for a moment. Gavin turns his head, looking at me.

Gavin: What? You thought I’d hide it?

MC: I...

Gavin: This isn’t a secret. The people here have never avoided the past.

MC: Why?

Gavin: There isn't a special reason. I once thought that as a leader, I’d have more power to uphold justice. Afterwards, a choice to sacrifice a few hundred lives to save a nobleman appeared before me.

MC: Which side did you pick?

Gavin: No matter the side, I wanted to save them all.

He stares afar off, a scorching colour flashing in his eyes. The wind seems to respond to him, causing leaves to rustle.

Gavin: I won't let a single life vanish in front of me. But many people threatened me using my capacity as a leader. Which is why I no longer wanted that title. I just want to be Gavin, and do the things I genuinely want to do.

In the night breeze, the corners of his lips turn upwards. Pride and resoluteness are transparent in his eyes.

My heart quivers. Fragments of the past few days involuntarily surface before my eyes -

How he returned triumphantly with loot, along with wounds of varying sizes.

How he often places somewhat simple and crude “thank you gifts” in front of the gate of the campground.

At first, I thought these rumours of Gavin were just false compliments. But after seeing them for myself, I am fully convinced -

Gavin is worthy of all the praise.

Thinking about this, my heart seems to be tugged roughly by something.

MC: If only I had met you earlier. That way, I wouldn’t just be the young girl who was blessed by God, and...

I suddenly pause, my honest thoughts stuck in my throat.

Gavin: Wouldn’t what?

Those amber eyes watch me quietly, as though waiting for what’s weighing on my mind to pour out in torrents.

MC: You’ll be heading out tomorrow, so rest early. If possible, I hope the stars can see everything I do, and that they wouldn't fall.

I control the stinging sensation in my eyes, showing my sincerest smile.

He seems to be stirred. The brilliant starlight reflects in his eyes, and my figure seems to become clearer.

But my vision gradually turns blurry, as though something is about to fall.

A faint light appears from afar. Holding the letter that I spent a night writing, I walk to Gavin’s door.

MC: Sorry. I think some words can’t be said in person. If there’s another chance, perhaps we could... get to know each other afresh.

Watching as the letter disappears at the other end, I feel a weight being lifted off me as I walk out of the gate.

Tonight is the king’s coronation ceremony.

There aren’t any celebratory gifts from the neighbouring countries. There aren’t any flatteries from imperial concubines or ministers. There are only soldiers hiding in the flowering shrubs...

And me, who is pressed onto the floor.

King: Did you think that I didn’t plant other spies aside from you?

The king eats grapes indolently, strong distaste flashing in his eyes.

MC: ...

King: As my slave for so many years, you should know the consequences of betrayal.

I couldn’t care less about the king’s threats. All that’s in my heart is worry.

Worry that Gavin didn’t see my letter. Worry that he’d follow the plan and come to the flower garden, and into the king’s ambush.

Just a while ago, I admitted everything in the letter -

According to my understanding of the king, he would definitely deploy forces in the flower garden to guarantee his safety during the ceremony.

It also explains why the palace is akin to an empty city, and can be easily infiltrated.

A sizeable amount of wealth fleeced from the common folk is in the treasury. If they could be returned to their original owners, it should lighten much of their burden.

This is the only thing I can do as compensation.

With this thought in mind, I look up at the brilliant sky-filled sky. My mind doesn’t hold back, and specks of time spent together with Gavin courses through it.

I take a deep breath, doing my best to remember this starry sky forever, leaving behind no regrets.

All of a sudden, a cold wind rolls up beside me. At the edge of my vision, a figure appears along with the wind.

The faraway figure gradually becomes clearer. Gavin is standing on the flying carpet, his expression so gloomy that it’s terrifying.

MC: Gavin, what are you doing here?! Leave quickly, there’s an ambush here!

Right after I finish speaking, arrows fly towards Gavin in succession, but they’re all rolled together by the gale in an instant.

Gavin looks down, his eyes filled with a fury which has reached its limits.

Gavin: Did you think about the consequences of touching one of my people?

King: Men, take him down!

Realising that arrows are ineffective, the bodyguards brandish long swords, closing in on me.

A gentle wind protects me. At the same time, a familiar voice drifts from behind.

Gavin: Hold tight.

He kicks away the person who was restraining me, then carries me on his shoulder.

I subconsciously struggle, but realise that I’m gripped tightly by him, as though he’s telling me -

That he’s angry.

Twisting my head to peer at his expression, I can only see the distinct outline of the side of his face from my periphery.

After the flying carpet leaves the ground, a fierce wind suddenly springs out of the flower garden.

In an instant, the magnificent flower garden turns into a mess. The king dangles upside down from a sculpture, and looks to be in a huge predicament.

With a cold “hmph”, Gavin soars faraway, the flower garden behind him turning smaller and smaller.

MC: Gavin, could you put me down... I’m already safe.

He ignores me, and the rustling wind is the only thing left in the surroundings.

MC: Sorry... I lied to you.

Gavin: I already knew from the start.

He continues staring out, responding coldly.

MC: In that case, why did you still come here?! I already told you in the letter not to...

Gavin: Because I want to bring you back.

MC: Why...?

Gavin: Since you joined us, you can’t leave that easily.

I release a resigned sigh, muttering softly.

MC: You clearly said that I could leave whenever I wanted to.

Gavin: You believe a bandit’s promise?

MC: You...!

Not knowing what to say, a soft chuckle drifts from behind me.

He exerts slight pressure, as though verifying something. Then, he sets me down, drawing me into his arms.

MC: I even thought you’d keep carrying me on your shoulder and not let go.

Gavin: I actually wouldn’t mind. But I still prefer this.

While saying this, he tightens both arms around my waist.

A sense of security instantly charges into my heart, but it also accidentally tears open the guilt that I've buried in the depths of my heart...

MC: Gavin, you had your suspicions about me from very early on, didn’t you.

Gavin: I had my suspicions at the start. But afterwards, I realised it was unnecessary. Because I knew that you wouldn’t harm me.

His gaze is brilliant as he looks at me, mixed with an unquestionable emotion.

MC: [blushing] Why do you keep looking at me like that?

Gavin: I can’t do that?

MC: [blushing] Of course you can’t. You can’t get used to being a bandit and do whatever you want...

I retort indignantly, my face red as I avert my eyes.

Suddenly, a scorching hand covers my face, turning my face back forcefully.

Gavin: You’re right. I’m used to being a bandit and doing whatever I want to. So, MC, let me take a good look at you.

He carefully sweeps his eyes over me. As I gradually come to my senses, I realise that he’s checking to see if I’m injured.

MC: Gavin, I’m not hurt.

Seeing the concern in his eyes, my heart feels a stinging sensation. No one has ever cared about me like this before.

Even though he knew that I didn’t have good intentions from the beginning, he didn’t blame me at all.

The familiar campground once again enters my vision. From afar, I see that everyone’s tidying up boxes filled with treasures.

MC: Did they go to the palace?

Gavin: Mm. I had to bring you back, so I let them go there by themselves. After sorting out the inventory, they will return the items to their original owners.

MC: In that case... could we head to the roof for a while? Today’s also the day my blessings are manifested. Whether it’s real or not, it’d be revealed very soon.

In a moment, we land on the roof. My heart uncontrollably turns anxious.

Gavin: The most valuable riches in the world?

Gavin stands beside me quietly, stretching out his hand.

The full moon hangs overhead, and the night breeze blows gently.

In an instant, the pearls and jewels in the boxes on the ground suddenly fill the night sky, glistening underneath the moonlight.

Countless silver coins and jewels soak in the moonlight, setting a contrast to the flickering stars, as though they are newborn stars.

Gavin: Are these your blessings?

Gavin turns around to face me. All the light in the world seem to be stored in those amber eyes.

Gavin: If you’re wondering about the meaning behind these blessings, let me shoulder it with you. Your fate will not be directed by anyone. MC, you can just be MC. I don’t care if you’ve been blessed by God. What I want is you.

The starry sky casts a faint halo over Gavin, becoming the most dazzling colour in my eyes.

My world seems to be shining into a ray of light, and the interlaced paths of what lies ahead in the future turn clear and bright.

All of a sudden, I realise something with certainty -

This is just the beginning. He will bring me along to be acquainted anew with this beautiful world.

A gentle gust breezes past, and the lower hem of Gavin’s clothes flutters.

His lips move slightly, and his voice burrows into my ears along with the wind.

Gavin: All of the blessings for you - I’ll fulfil them myself.

🍷 MOMENTS 🍷

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving in the open country.

MC: Because most of this trip will be in the open country, we have to do our homework in advance!

Gavin: When it comes to safety, there’s nothing to worry about with me around.

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: Are you surprised? The first phase of the trip is starting!

Gavin: Great. In that case, leave the rest of the arrangements to me.

Gavin’s Post: Aside from two plane tickets, I also received a guidebook on surviving outdoors.

MC: I felt that you’ve been working really hard lately, so I wanted to take you to a faraway place to relax~

Gavin: Actually, it’s enough that you’re around.

🍷 Phone calls: First l Second

🍷 More translated dates: here

🍷 Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc gavin #almost couldn't finish this because I kept getting nosebleeds whenever gavin's sprite appeared on the screen #the way to a man's heart is by treating his wounds #the way to a woman's heart is by being gavin

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

Hey girly i was wondering if you could do a coops smut with the prompte 71 and/or 90 Pretty please and Thank you i love! Your writing

Coops wedding night!!! At long last it is here, and I still have more than an hour before midnight. Since it took me so long to get this out, I’m opening up fic requests until 12 pm (noon) PST tomorrow! Thank you all for your patience--it truly means the world to me. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

Wedding Preparations II Part 1 II Part 2 II Part 3

TW for smut, hickeys, wrist restraint (for a bit), and happy tears

Prompt 71: “Go on. I want to hear you say it.”

Sirius looked like he was having a Moment™ as they stepped into the house and, being a polite and loving husband, Remus let him have eight solid seconds of awestruck silence.

Then he leaned up, sank his teeth into the side of Sirius’ neck, and sucked.

A breathless whine slipped from Sirius’ throat and he nearly dropped Remus before pressing him up against the nearest wall and kicking the door closed, gripping his thighs hard enough to burn in the best way. Remus hooked his ankles around his lower back, squeezing his waist until he drew a moan from the soft lips that mapped his jawline.

Sirius stopped cold when he ran his hands along Remus’ upper thighs, and he grinned into the kiss. “What’s this?”

“A surprise,” Remus said, skimming his teeth over Sirius’ pulse point. “Wait, are you laughing?”

“I’m—” Sirius broke off into snickering and set him down carefully “I’m wearing one, too.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s a wedding, sweetheart!”

Remus leaned back against the wall as he burst out laughing, then beckoned Sirius closer and kissed him softly. “I guess that means we should go upstairs, huh?”

“That depends. Do you think you can leave my poor thighs alone for once?” Sirius quirked an eyebrow as he led Remus toward the stairs by the rumpled ends of his bowtie.

“Never.”

Sirius’ grin widened and he grabbed Remus’ hand; they ran up the stairs in a tumble of laughter, nearly tripping over each other more than once in their haste. The air still hummed with electricity, but a steady undercurrent pulled them closer like magnets, inevitable and unbreakable.

The bed creaked as they fell onto it in a heap, which only spurred their laughter on until Sirius broke the kiss to roll onto his back and catch his breath, kicking his shoes off. “This is fucking incredible.”

“Hmm?” Remus scooted against his side, slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt with one hand while the other tipped his chin over for a kiss.

“I’m about—” Sirius’ palm cradled the side of his face as his tongue swiped along his lower lip. “—to have sex with my husband.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“In our bed.” Another kiss to the ridge of his cheek.

“Mhmm.”

“On our wedding night.”

“Indeed.”

“After an amazing party and fucking fantastic pizza.”

“It was pretty great.” Remus tangled their legs together and tugged Sirius on top of him, sliding the shirt off his shoulders with a smile. “Have I mentioned how amazing you look in a suit?”

Sirius ran his hands under Remus’ shirt, tracing his ribs. “Once or twice. How do you want me?”

“I wanna see you.” He unbuckled Sirius’ belt and tossed it to the side, laughing a little at the clatter it made when it hit the floor before he pulled him down for a hard kiss that was more tongue and teeth than anything else. “Fuck, it’s a good thing the season’s over.”

Sirius hummed as he slipped each of Remus’ buttons out one by one, running his index finger down the line of his sternum. “It is. I think Coach was getting tired of seeing me with a limp.”

Remus pulled back slightly with his fingertips still under the waistband of Sirius’ pants. “Why would you be limping?”

He blinked. “Because…I’m about to get fucked into next week?”

“But you grabbed my ass at the restaurant.”

“Sweetheart, I grab your ass all the time.”

“I thought it was a hint!”

Sirius sat up and made a timeout motion. “So we each thought the other was dropping hints about who was topping tonight?”

“…I think so.” Remus crossed his legs under himself and held his hands out. “Alright, let’s settle this like adults.”

“Rock, paper, scissors, sh—Remus!”

“What? We always do it on ‘scissors’!”

Sirius sighed and shook his hands out. “We always do it on ‘shoot’, honey. Take two. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Fuck,” Remus muttered as they both did ‘rock’. “Third time’s a charm. Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!”

“Merde. This isn’t going to work, we know each other too well.” Sirius turned his puppy eyes on and Remus’ heart clenched. “Compromise?”

“How about…” He scooted forward, sliding Sirius’ tie off his neck and nosing down the side of his neck. “I tie you down and ride you into the mattress?”

Sirius hummed and tilted his chin to the side.

Remus moved up to his lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there. “And I could blow you?”

He felt a smile against his skin and gasped as Sirius nipped his lower lip. “Deal.”

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he said as he traced the familiar shapes of Sirius’ chest and soft skin; under his palms, a heartbeat quickened. “Easy, baby, I’ll take care of you.”

Sirius’ laugh was little more than a huff when Remus pushed him onto his back and straddled his waist to pull his own shirt off the rest of the way. “I know, that’s what I’m waiting for.”

His head fell back as Remus scattered light hickeys over his ribs and skimmed his nipples once in a while just to feel his hips buck on reflex—a lovely half-moan slipped through when Remus ran his blunt nails down his sides. “Can I see my surprise now?”

“Please,” Sirius panted, dragging him down for a brief, hard kiss.

Remus paused for a moment to cup Sirius’ face in his hands, pulling away with softer kisses before unbuttoning the front of his pants and sliding them down his legs; something soft with an itchy edge scraped against the side of his hand and his chest stuttered. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“You haven’t even—unh—seen it.”

“Don’t have to.” Remus rolled his hips down again and Sirius’ breath hitched as he pulled away, shifting to get a proper view of the surprise. “Fuck, baby.”

“Yeah?”

Remus traced the edge of the garter, watching the scalloped lace and deep red ribbon ripple under his touch, setting off the summertime gold of Sirius’ skin like a wet dream. “Mhmm. Very pretty.”

Sirius closed his eyes as he hooked a finger under the elastic, giving it a quick snap before soothing the burn with his mouth; he feathered his lips over the strange texture, leaving small love bites in his wake before taking the edge between his teeth and slowly dragging it down Sirius’ leg. He shuddered when it slipped past the back of his knee and Remus smoothed a hand down his calf.

“Voila.” Remus held the garter up once it was off and cocked a playful eyebrow at Sirius, who couldn’t seem to decide where he wanted to put his knees. “Do you want to take mine off, too?”

“Hell no, you’re keeping it on.” Sirius reached for his pants and Remus shifted to help get them pants off—Sirius paused when the first edge of black and blue lace appeared, then took a deep breath and shoved them the rest of the way down so Remus could kick them off the bed. “Yeah, that’s staying on for the rest of your fucking life.”

“And you’ll be there the whole time,” Remus said, bracketing his waist as Sirius toyed with the edge of the garter. “The rest of our life.”

Something unbearably soft overtook Sirius’ face and he went still, scanning every inch of Remus in awe. “Our life,” he murmured, running a thumb under Remus’ eye. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me, too.” He ground down and Sirius gasped, reaching one hand toward the nightstand as the other dug into Remus’ hip; Remus caught his wrist and pulled it to his mouth. “Not yet, baby.”

Sirius twitched under his thigh and he grinned, sliding damp kisses to the crook of his elbow before shifting until he was level with his navel. Gray-blue eyes, glazed with anticipation, locked on his own before fluttering closed as he wrapped his hands around the backs of Sirius’ knees and licked along the fabric at the top of his dick. “Oh, fuck me,” Sirius breathed, flopping back down and throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I thought we established it was going to be the other way around?” Remus teased as he toyed with the edge of his boxers, tugging and snapping without ever moving them as he dampened the front.

“I love the way you look like that.”

“Then look.” He reached up and tapped Sirius’ elbow. “Come on, baby, look at me.”

A shimmer of silver appeared and Remus grinned, tonguing the vein he could feel swelling under his lips. Sirius took a deep breath and stretched his arms over his head, arching his lower back until Remus canted his hips back down and removed his boxers in a smooth motion. He sucked a hickey into the ridge of each hip, kissing a swirling pattern all the way to his inner thigh until he heard a whine at the tail end of Sirius’ exhale. “Are you going to be mean tonight?”

“Mean?” Remus’ smile widened and he shifted to lay on Sirius’ chest, closing his hand around his dick and pressing his thumb beneath the head. “Ever heard of something called foreplay?”

Sirius draped his arms over Remus’ neck and wound his fingers in his hair, giving a gentle tug. “You live to torment me.”

“Unfortunately, you love it.” Remus kissed him gently and gave him a quick squeeze before scooting back down the bed to take the tip into his mouth. Sirius cursed and twisted his hands in the sheets, and a tremor ran through him when Remus pulled away. “Do you need something to hold?”

“I—maybe?” Sirius flexed his fingers, already so hard he was starting to drip.

Wordlessly, Remus took one of his hands and put it back in his hair, then laced his own with the other. “Much better,” he murmured against the shaft before taking him down far enough that Sirius’ mouth fell open slightly. The light pressure at the back of his head made Remus’ eyes fall shut in bliss and he squeezed Sirius’ hand with a hum that sent a shiver down his legs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Sirius panted. His eyebrows pitched as his dick hit the back of Remus’ throat and his grip tingled all the way down Remus’ spine. “Mon loup, mon coeur, oh—fuck, mon mari.”

Remus swallowed on reflex as the nickname lit up every pleasure center in his body and Sirius moaned, pushing him further. The corners of his vision went speckly for a moment and he pulled off with a cough, though he kept one hand curled around the shaft.

“D’accord?”

“Got a little excited,” Remus rasped, licking his lips as he went back to his previous position. “Good?”

“Of course it’s fucking good, it’s y—do that again.” A whimper caught in Sirius’ throat as Remus hollowed his cheeks, then sat back.

“Are you close?”

Sirius nodded, a little desperate as he ran his palms down Remus’ biceps and tried to bring him back. “So close, don’t stop.”

“Unless you think you can go twice…” Remus raised an eyebrow and Sirius bit his lip. “Really?”

He made a distressed noise and brought his knees up to squeeze around Remus’ waist. “I don’t know, I just—I need something, sweetheart, don’t leave me hanging.”

Remus leaned over to slide up his body until they were face-to-face, pinning his hands to the mattress. “That was quick.”

“If you knew what your mouth felt like—” Sirius’ defense was cut short by a kiss that he eagerly returned; Remus dug around with his free hand in the tangled sheets and smiled when he felt a brush of familiar material, looping it loosely around Sirius’ right wrist. Their chests bumped together and Remus shuddered when he felt Sirius’ shaft, slick against his own.

“This okay?”

“More. More, more, yes.” Sirius hissed the last word as Remus tightened the tie and wound the other end around one post of their headboard. “Mine’s on the—fuck, on the left side.”

A slip of black stood out against the white of their sheets and he pulled it free before tying it around Sirius’ other wrist, making sure it was just as tight before settling into his lap and opening the nightstand drawer. “Y’know, I thought you’d want to do this before I tied you up.”

Sirius’ already-labored breathing stuttered for a moment when he saw the lube. “I do.”

“You made your choice.”

“Sweetheart,” he whined, tugging at the restraints with a slight pout. “Let me do it.”

Remus paused midway through slicking his fingers and glanced down. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you want me to untie you. Once they come off, they don’t go back on.”

Sirius chewed his lower lip, gaze flickering between Remus’ face and hand. Finally, he sighed and relaxed a bit. “You’re so hot when you’re bossy.”

“Am I?” Remus closed his eyes as his first finger pushed in. The rough edge of Sirius’ sex voice had finally appeared and he let it wash over him, crackling against every nerve like a live wire as he ground back onto his hand. His fingers were slimmer than Sirius’—it was an odd feeling after so long.

“I love seeing you melt under me, but it’s different when you’re telling me what to do.” A slight roll of Sirius’ hips spread Remus’ knees further and he half-moaned at the sensation, adding a second. “God, Re, you’re fucking beautiful.”

Remus smiled, letting his head fall slightly to the side as he brushed his sweet spot and rocked down; the garter around his thigh slid against his skin and Sirius pushed his legs up, supporting more of Remus’ weight. “Mmm, still good?”

“Add another.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Remus.” Sirius spread his legs wider; since Remus was straddling him, he dropped down as well. “Add another.”

He took a second to catch his breath, then slid the third in. His mouth fell open with a staccato huff and he grabbed Sirius’ leg for balance, fighting the urge to ride his own hand until his building orgasm pulled him under. “Ngh—fuck, should’ve done this before blowing you.”

“At least I’ll last a little longer now,” Sirius mused, flicking his gaze toward the lube. His dick was still shiny with precome and Remus bit his lip to stop himself from taking him back down his throat. Other plans, he reminded himself. You have other plans.

He sank down on Sirius’ lap and kept a tight grip on those broad shoulders, watching as Sirius’ eyes unfocused. The first grind of his hips made fireworks pop behind Remus’ eyelids and he made an embarrassingly needy noise that was made slightly better by Sirius’ strangled groan. “I love you,” he gasped out, rolling his hips harder on the next push. “Oh god, that’s good.”

“I still can’t get over the—merde, comment dit on?” Sirius’ knees jerked inward and Remus scrabbled for a hold on his chest as the head slid over his prostate. “The ribbon thing? Lace, looks fantastic on you.”

“Garter. ‘s called a garter.” And I’m wearing it because I married you.

“What’s the smile for?” Sirius’ voice was soft and Remus blinked his eyes open as he sat down all the way, circling his hips slowly; his hands were clenched tight on the ties and a high flush colored his chest and cheeks, but his expression was downright smitten. Somehow, that was just as sexy as the flexing muscles of his abdomen as he met Remus’ motions.

“I just...” He shook his head, running his palms down miles of warm skin. His face ached from smiling all day long, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “We’re married. We got married for real. I fucking love you and you’re mine forever.”

Sirius’ eyes shone in the low light of their bedroom and his breath hitched. “Forever. I like the sound of that.”

“Can I untie you?” Remus stopped moving and soaked in the feeling of being warm, of being full. Sweat cooled on his back and he heard Sirius sniffle. “Are you okay?”

“Untie me, then I’ll tell you.”

He was careful as he loosened each knot and pulled them over Sirius’ wrists, almost reverent with each twist and tug. Once both wrists were free, he pulled them up and kissed Sirius’ pulse points, sinking into a puddle of mush when broad palms cradled his face gently. Remus looked down with a half-smile. “Spill the big secret, baby.”

Sirius kept his hands on Remus’ face as he guided him down to brush their noses together and press the ghost of a kiss to his lips. A single tear sparkled in the lamplight as it rolled down to his ear. “You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I never thought I would be able to have this kind of happiness, but you—” His voice broke and Remus felt something prickle behind his eyes. “You’re it, Re.”

“You know what I just realized?”

“Hmm?”

“We never did the ‘til death do us part’ line.”

Sirius smiled and traced Remus’ cheekbones like he was a holy relic. “As if death would ever stop me from loving you.”

“You’re so fucking romantic.” Remus pressed the heel of his palm against his eye as the tears tracked down his face and euphoria turned his whole body hot. He took a few deep breaths and swiped the dampness from his face before leaning back down to kiss Sirius soundly, pouring everything he had into their shared breaths. “I’m not—Sirius, I don’t tell you often, but you are my whole world. I’m not good with sappy words but I hope you know that I love you with everything I have and everything I am.”

“I know.” It was amazing how such simple words could make Remus’ heart pound with joy. He knew what heartbreak felt like, had tasted it and burned with it when he thought Sirius would leave him. But this...

Remus kissed Sirius’ forehead and held his lips there; the world narrowed to them, the breath on his collarbone, and the heartbeat under his hand. If heartbreak felt like spattering on the ground, this was flight, and he knew he would never come down from it.

They stayed like that for two seconds, an hour, a millennia before Remus shifted and electricity sparked through his lungs, kickstarting the heat that raced in his veins. Sirius held him close, snapping his hips upward as he kept a constant hand on the blue-black garter around Remus’ thigh—Remus had bought the thing as a bit of a joke, thinking it was the perfect cross between elegant and just tacky enough to make Sirius laugh with the tiny bow on one side. Evidently, he had misjudged the sexy factor.

Sounds punched from Sirius’ lungs, desperate and wanting despite the fact that Remus would happily give him whatever he desired. “Re, Re, please.”

“What do you want?” he murmured into the space under Sirius’ ear, skimming his fingertips over his ribcage until he dipped one side of his hips down with a moan and drew a cut-off cry from Remus’ mouth. “Sirius.”

“Don’t stop moving,” Sirius begged, even as he wrapped his hands around the base of Remus’ waist and pulled him into the right spot, fingertips digging into his lower back. “Do not stop doing that.”

His breaths were coming faster and the world blurred into shapes and colors as the wave crept up on him once more; if Remus had any shred of awareness left, he was sure his face would itch from dried tears, but he had reached the point of so-close-almost-there-just-a-little-more where everything was tortured bliss. “It’s so much,” he heard himself pant. “It’s so much, oh my god.”

Sirius was asking him something, babbling in French—more, sweetheart, mon coeur, mon mari—but Remus only caught every third word.

Husband. That means husband. The cool metal of Sirius’ rings was stark against the overwhelming heat of his thigh and he shivered, curling one hand in the sheets and framing the side of Sirius’ neck with the other as his thighs ached from dropping down again, and again, and again.

“It does.” Sirius trembled in every muscle as he wrapped his arms around Remus and ravaged the side of his neck with kisses and bites. “Mon mari. Mine, my husband. Go on, I want to hear you say it.”

“Mon mari.” The words sounded muddled in his ears, but it must have been enough, because Sirius fell apart beneath him with a shout muffled in the junction of his neck and shoulder. All it took was a hand closing around his shaft for Remus to jolt and moan and melt, tasting the salt of sweat along with something so quintessentially Sirius that he couldn’t help but bury his face in it and ride out the tide.

“I love you.” Remus blinked, propping himself on shaky forearms to meet Sirius’ eyes. They gleamed in the warm amber glow of the bedside lamp they found at a yard sale not three weeks prior. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” A smile spread across his face, followed by what could only be described as a giggle. “Sirius, I love you so much.”

“We got married,” Sirius laughed; the slightly hysterical crack to his voice only made them both laugh harder and Remus rolled to the side, clutching Sirius’ hand in his own as new tears of mirth gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“Who let us do that?” Remus managed after a second. “Who authorized this?”

“Minerva fucking McGonagall, that’s who.”

“We need to send her a fruit basket or something. Maybe a cat.”

“She does like cats,” Sirius agreed; he glanced over at Remus, still grinning, and then flopped on top of him like a dead weight.

“Ow,” Remus wheezed, torn between shoving him off and snuggling closer. “Ugh, you’re all sweaty.”

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” Sirius raised his eyebrows and scooted into a proper cuddling position, where he could press a smacking kiss to Remus’ cheek. “You’re in no place to talk, either.”

“I’m in the perfect place, actually,” Remus said, letting his legs fall open so Sirius could settle properly; he snuggled closer and kissed the dip of his collarbone. “We need to shower at some point, but…”

“…but you’re going to be raring to go in twenty minutes and I’m not moving until I cuddle the living hell out of you.” Sirius raised his head and stuck his lower lip out in a pout. “I missed our morning snuggles. As cute as Harry is, it’s not the same at all.”

“Tell me about it,” Remus muttered. “The next time we get married, we’re not sleeping in separate beds the night before. It’s a stupid tradition.”

“Deal. When are we getting married a second time? I’d rather not divorce you five hours after we tied the knot.”

“I guess we’ll just have to plan another wedding.”

“Do I get to propose this time?”

“Sure. It certainly takes a lot of the pressure off me.”

“You knew I’d say yes,” Sirius scoffed, giving him a playful squeeze around the ribs.

Remus shrugged. “It’s scarier than you think.”

“It’s not that hard.” Sirius shifted around for a moment, then pulled Remus’ wedding ring off and made a mock-serious face as he held it up. “Remus Lupin, will you marry me?”

“Gimme that,” Remus laughed, snatching the ring back and sliding it on. “For the record, yes.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.”

He tapped the underside of Sirius’ chin with his finger and drew him down for a brief kiss, resting their foreheads together. “I’d marry you every day if I could.”

“It’s a good thing we’ve got a lot of days ahead of us, then.”

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inked-out-trees · 3 years ago

Note

⭐ for The Keep Going Song? Thanks! :)

(anh i would die for you)

Thank you for asking! I am going to be talking about the whole thing because it's fun, and because there's not really many ~secrets~ within the text to ramble about, just little fun snippets!

I'll do it under a cut because I will definitely ramble. Woohoo!

I came across The Keep Going Song (the song) after my Lookout 3 Companion Playlist (& my spotify discovery) introduced me to the Bengsons. The effect was almost instantaneous - it's the kind of warmth I try to encompass in everything I do, and for the next few days I had it on repeat as I worked. This was around the time I was finishing my Lookout script, and I had been toying with the idea of writing a Cornleyverse fic after absolutely devouring all 10 fics in the tag. What I knew was that I wanted it to be sweet, I wanted it to pull them all together, and I wanted it to be a progression. Despite only having seen the Goes Wrong Show, jumping into the fandom made me want to dimensionalize these characters and give them a story beyond everything that had already occured.

I also watched Christmas Carol before / during the writing process, but to date I have not watched Peter Pan or the full-length TPTGW. My prior knowledge comes from Wikipedia, the delightul amateur TPTGW production on YouTube, a friend's excellent transcription of the Haversham Manor script, and tumblr meta analysis. I think I did a reasonable enough job pretending I knew what I was doing.

Let's get going!

I knew off the top that it was going to be vignettes - they would give me room to spread the story over the long period of time it takes for a group of people to grow into something resembling a family. Like I said in the original author's note, there was supposed to be more of the early, snippy days - but I got so focused on making them kinder that I found I couldn't properly write a fight. In hindsight, it probably would have been easier if I tried writing that first, but, well. Once I realized that it was too late. The alphabet idea came later, once I had them all finished: I wanted to organize them somehow, but numbers felt too open, too infinite - closing the story on an organizational endpoint was just really satisfying.

a - Every good story needs a good beginning.

c - Starting with the end of Peter Pan is my sneaky way of slipping past the fact that I haven't seen the earlier shows! The Max and Sandra storyline is just so sweet, and I wanted to let it exist a little bit in between our jump from Peter Pan to Christmas Carol. This vignette came so easily when I wrote it and I love love love the feelings and the tentativity about the whole thing.

f - This was actually the last vignette I wrote. I realized I needed some front-end padding because otherwise my angst plot came rather abruptly, and what better way? At this point, too, I was trying to bring in POVs from each one of our characters, and when deciding on Trevor's POV I thought the exasperation-excitement combination would be an excellent choice. It turns out Trevor is my favourite to write, mostly because I can find his voice a lot easier than some of the others - and probably also because I hold a lot of fondness and nostalgia for stage crew work. Also, I wrote most of this one on a long evening walk in the notes app on my phone. Fun fact.

h - I did my original idea slam in a draft tumblr post, and this one just says "birthday party but one without all the drama of christmas carol". And what do you know, that's exactly what it is! I definitely took the birthday party (in CCGW as well as in this fic) as a kind of proof that they really do like each other, if they're doing things like this and if they want to do things like this - and that theme of okay, they want to be here formed the basis for this part. I think it's exceptionally sweet that Dennis came looking for friends and ended up finding, well, something. And I popped in a little MMNI reference with "one of the Janines" - Backwards Janine? Frontwards Janine? Original Janine? Who knows! It's one of them!

l - The thing about this plot is that it's actually one of the first ideas I had when dreaming up this fic, and I couldn't quite let it go. The point was, what if I somehow split them up? How can they get on when half the society is out of commission? And the most reasonable way I could find to actually get half of them out of commission was the car accident. To be honest, this one is mostly filler - it's also the second vignette I wrote, and it found its birth in the email drafts of my work laptop.

m - Trying to map out this little plotline without overdoing it might have been the most difficult part of this fic, and I'm still not 100% sure I succeeded. This is our explanation for the unease from the vignette above, and it took me 3 rewrites before I finally found something that settled in my brain. "Dennis gets chased by a goose" might be one of my favourite lines in the fic though.

Also, putting these letters right next to each other made me feel really clever for no reason.

n - My Jonathan perspective also took a few stutter-steps in its beginning, but this one ultimately came from the promo video's reveal that Robert and Dennis live together, and me playing with the continual idea of the remaining cast members being rather unmoored in their injured castmates' absence. Robert in particular because I love his character and I love making him Feel Things(TM) (fun hint: this will also be a small theme in the new cpds fic I have in the works!) and I want to see so much from this odd relationship between him and Dennis. Obviously they have to tolerate each other if they are willingly roommates - how far can I go with that? I love how this one turned out.

o - All I have to say about this one is that I still really love the sweetness between these two, and they deserve the world. Also, at some point during writing this I was really caught up with how striking Dave's face silhouette is (don't ask) so that ended up making it in somehow.

q - Girls' Night is SO important to me. After all the work they've done to make these gals friends I needed to capture it, and a pleasant night in just made a lot of sense. This one is the home of a few of my headcanons - Annie has a chef roommate and Max does a lot of the cooking, thus the "neither of us are the usual household cooks" comments, and I also think they're at the point where they can joke about their previous failures (especially with these three together) so the nod to A Trial To Watch (my favourite gws episode) was so fun. Also, Waking Ned really is a silly pick-me-up of a movie - would recommend. Special thanks to CBC for giving us Canadians quality British TV alongside our occasionally questionable homegrown programming.

r - It wouldn't be a fic about progress and growth with this crew without a disheartening moment turned into gold. I wrote this one while barbecuing, another fun fact, and no joke the hardest part was figuring out what to name the play they were doing. I kept pace with the whole "Jonathan can't get onscreen" gag, which was personally hilarious and made me cackle as I wrote it, and the rest of it just felt good. I will always have a soft spot for comfort and reassurance in a story and getting to write it has just been an absolute delight.

t - This was one of my other unplanned vignettes. It was originally to fill out Robert's POV, but also to express a bit of how things have changed in Chris's attitude towards his cast - if there's one thing I would change from Mischief's characerisation thus far, it's this brand of almost-kindness that I consistently need to write him with. It takes the aftermath of the car accident and uses it to kind of make him understand - this is a valuable group of people and I don't want to lose it. But of course he's not the type of person to actually express that in any way, so I thought the frenetic hovering was a good way to get the point across. As well, the kind-of-bonding between Chris and Robert - the two of them are such powerhouses of insistent personality that conflict so easily but they've also got a more secret kind of friendship that deserves to be explored a little more. I really like this vignette and how it ended up portraying how they are around each other, how they really do know each other, especially when they're not fighting. Makes me soft.

w - This is the first vignette I wrote! I honestly didn't realize until writing this just how much I identify with Annie - best of both worlds re. crew and cast, a bit of tenacity regarding getting through things, overall personality - I just love her so so much. She also seems like the most sensible of the cast, so the collective "why are we really here?" moment with Trevor really spoke to me. I love their friendship, I love the kind of quiet vibe this vignette gives off - this is one of the ones I can feel most strongly, the one I can step into and exist inside. I also spent most of my old drama rehearsals and classes without shoes, so that had to make it in just by virtue of the sock brigade (me).

z - One thing I knew for sure since the inception of the fic was that it needed to end on a victory. I took the images I had of this victorious adrenaline, everyone together having a good time, kind of getting smashed, and karaoke (I really wanted the karaoke, for some reason) and went the obvious route: the wedding. Ending on Chris POV also felt so right - possibly because he's the one with the most growth in this fic - and getting to finally feel this triumph with him after all these other trials and tribulations was an absolute joy. The wedding hall, in my head, looks like the one my cousin used (it was at a zoo... my sister and I went on a night walk and heard a lot of screaming peacocks) and I definitely threw all my wistfulness, all my love for the characters I'd developed, and all my love for this fantastic fandom into this part. The incorrect lyrics that Annie sings are exactly what I think every time I hear that song, because I've never looked up the lyrics before and my brain likes to play Mad Libs with my super-questionable auditory processing. And the image of the ballroom staff getting really exasperated with them and shutting all the lights off came to me at night and is hastily scribbled on a sticky note (it's a wonder it's legible) but I still strongly believe that it's the perfect, perfect way to end. I still get the warm feelings when I reread this part, even now, after so many reads.

And, finally - our end quote is exactly what started this whole thing. What is this drama society if not a rough beginning? But the concept that we'll make it through, that we can just take a step and then another and it'll be okay because we're together... it's hard to describe just how much it means to me, to my place in the world, to the world itself. I think one of my rather consistent aims in writing, no matter what it is, is to be able to have this collective - characters that become family, people that are important to each other, this constellation to lean on - because it's all I can say for the human experience. It's probably quite a bit of wishful thinking (as I said to another friend, "I am apparently letting loose on all my repressed social feelings of the past year and shoving them into fics") and a sort of subconscious confirmation that if I write it, I can be it. So this force of understanding and kindness and ultimately good people helping each other through the world is something I can't help but include, something that means the absolute world to me.

I'm so glad to have been able to share this fic with everyone, and extra glad that it's been able to touch some people along the way. I've found such an incredible community in Mischief and coincidentally I think The Keep Going Song represents that warmth, too - the community I've been so lucky to exist inside, how we're helping each other along, step by step. What a beautiful thing to be a part of! Thank you for reading and allowing me to give you a bit of my heart. 💖💖

#director's cut #the keep going song

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something-very-special · 4 years ago

Text

they ran over the seals

More Replicant playthrough observations and general nonsense under the cut. For reference, up to the keystone quest; completed the Forest of Myth and Junk Heap.

This fucking game I swear to god.

A vaguely coherent ramble about sidequests An observation about sidequests in general in this game -- and I don't recall if I ever voiced this somewhere public or it was just a personal observation from my time with the original -- is that the quests in the first half of the game are all relatively easy to complete. There's that one asshat who wants 10 goat hides, but other than him, most of the sidequests are either very much based on finding characters, or gathering a sensible number of items that are either relatively common, purchasable, or given a guaranteed spawn for the duration of that quest.

The sidequests everybody remembers having to do are in the second half, where everybody is demanding and awful and I'm sorry ten MACHINE OILS do you know how goddamn rare those are? They're goddamn rare.

(We'll not discuss Life in the Sands.)

This is generally agreed to, in the technical vernacular, 'suck'. And it's always funny that the most interesting sidequests are the ones with very minimal requirements (Yonah's cooking, getting Popola drunk, the Lighthouse Ladoh my god everything's gone blurry I'm not crying you're crying who am I kidding we're both crying). That particular aspect of the design also feels intentional, not really gating your ability to progress the really meaningful or funny sidequests behind an unreasonable number of rare items. The other aspect of the design is that these quests are not meant to be completed in a single playthrough; most of them are single-stage and just absolutely unreasonable, but if you're going through the game four times you have a... reasonable chance of getting everything you need more or less naturally.

Nobody does that but I think that was the intended design. I think it's a good idea, although the execution of expectation is flawed so I don't really blame people for saying those sidequests suck. (Although I will in turn blame people for saying the sidequests suck as a blanket statement. Yeah getting that guy who burned his kitchen down a billion Broken Motors is aggravating but did you not find that old man's dog? Speak to Ursula on her death bed? Solve a murder? Then again I think tracking down that rotten son who's trying to get away from The Family Business only to learn his father is a con-artist and get literally no reward is the height of comedy so maybe I'm not the greatest point of reference.)

But that asshole in Facade can get bent. I can't exploit my garden properly, jackass! I am no longer a god of time. (I kid, of course.) (This guys sucks even when you can fix your clock.)

Forest of Myth It didn't even occur to me to wonder how they would incorporate the comprehensive voice acting into the Forest of Myth. I like how it plays out, although I wish the voices maybe had a fade as you went deeper into the dream instead of just cutting out at some point, especially for the lines where the characters are being ascribed actions by the narrator that they themselves aren't doing near the start of the Deathdream. But it's just delightful to go back to it. The second half of the game really sticks in your mind both for emotional reasons and because you play it at least three times per full playthrough of the game, but the first half is just so much fun.

Protip: Talk to everybody after you've finished the dream sidequest. Weiss tries to dissuade you. Don't let him dissuade you. I'm still delighted by the Mayor; "We're building a statue of you, made of solid gold. I know you don't own a horse, but we're going to put you on a horse."

I forgot about Yonah being a disaster chef Papa Nier's reaction to the stew is better. Brother is still funny but Papa Nier just expecting to die is comedy gold.

For anybody curious, the joke about the cakes is that Yonah made 'fruit cake' using some of the worst possible fruits for cake-making. If only she'd thrown a tomato into the mix, too.

Lighthouse Lady Every time. what the fuck is a canal I'm aware of the addition of the new-old content but it didn't occur to me until Popola suddenly starts nattering on about fixing the canal when I'm expecting Yonah to talk about a penpal that oh, yeah, I guess Seafront would have had something going on the first half that would play into the second half? (I assume it does. Be weird to introduce these characters just to have groundwork for an added sidequest. ...but it was a cute sidequest.) But look Popola my boy is supposed to be in the next area I visit could we-- I mean he's on the way could we just-- no-- fiiiiiiiiiine. (It was short and sweet, though, and I appreciate that the couple's love is exemplified by them both calling Weiss a floating magazine in tandem.) On a related note but was I the only person suddenly concerned when the sidequest completion maxed out at 50% and not 51%? I had to double-check with a guide just to make sure, since I've spent the last decade telling people to make sure you hit 51% before going on to Part II.

MY BOY I love that nowadays, Emil is everybody's son. But I really wish I could go find somebody only familiar with Automata and just watch their reaction. (I'm guessing there are streams out there that fulfill this but man I'd love to get it in-person.) If you're only familiar with him from Automata this has to be a mindfuck.

Personal anecdote, but I've had the privilege of playing NIER with somebody else almost every time I've gone through it. I had a wonderful experience of doing a replay some years back with somebody who had experienced it with me before but didn't have the most solid memory of the beginning (and had actually missed the entire weapon's lab the first time through). I get to the boy at the piano introducing himself and the 'Wait, what?' was a thing of beauty.

MY ANDROID This was a welcome mindfuck for me; finding Sebastian and having him 'reactivate' in such an unnatural, mechanical way. I don't recall if it was ever officially confirmed that Sebastian is an android (I know that it's just understood that this is the case but I'm not I can't recall a specific one) but the little flair they added to his animation caught me completely off guard. I liked it!

Destroying the food source A lot of people will cite a major inciting incident for the game as being when the protagonist heading back into the village and killing the child Shades just outside the entrance. This moment is such a great bit of subtle foreshadowing that's so easy to miss... but kind of joining that, just before the Knave of Hearts attacks, I realized that the Shades out on the Northern Plains are clearly ramping up for an assault of their own by murdering the sheep. The sheep population at this point is decimated (which is great when you realize you haven't gotten the Sheepslayer trophy and you're about to enter Part II and you don't know if the boar drifting minigame got carried forward with the inclusion of 15 Nightmares). You go out onto the Plains and you will find not only small clusters of sheep left behind instead of the vast, terrifying herds from the start of the game, but until you get their attention the Shades are prioritizing killing the sheep. (Also annoying because that doesn't count toward my sheep murder number.) The Shades will be out there also killing sheep earlier on, but since the whole map is in Overcast mode after talking to Yonah it's especially prevalent to go out to the Northern Plains and seeing the slaughter. And I realized-- they're cutting the Village off from a primary food source. Shades don't eat and they don't have any beef with the local ungulates (at least, no more so than anybody else does), so why are they hunting down the sheep? To deprive their enemies of resources. Sheep are extinct by the timeskip. It's actually really clever of them, and a really clever indication of their sentience and intelligence before it's fully verified.

"Let's get these shit-hogs!" Everything about the way Kaine and Emil interact across the entire game is perfect I will brook no argument this is objective fact.

Emotive Rectangles I wrote an essay about this before but it really bears repeating that the job the original animators did with this scene is just phenomenal. The way Weiss drifts, flits, flips, fans his pages, drunkenly swerves, shoots around the room in defiance... He's a goddamn rectangle, but there is so much emotion and personality in this scene just based on the movements conveyed through a what is effectively just a box. Ten years later and triple-A titles with full facial capture don't have this much seething personality. I really have to give props to the cavia animators, wherever they wound up. That studio could really put some subtle love and care into their titles, utterly unnecessary and easy to miss but you can tell that whoever was working on it was giving it their all. The books are probably the exemplification of this, but every time I go into Seafront and visit the seals I can tell that the guy on seal duty was having just the best day. They made Emil so pretty There's an FMV cutscene right smack in the middle of the original game after the battle against Noir. I understand why it was a necessity on a technical level, but it always looked pretty out of place and a little uncanny valley compared to the rest of the graphical fidelity. That's no longer a necessity so this cutscene is rendered in-engine. I admit I was actually curious to see it redone this way and it looks fantastic. I single out Emil since he is the focal point of cutscene and because his particular high-poly model had some pretty weird difference from his in-engine model, but he and Kaine both look great. But, like, it's almost mean how pretty he is.

They made Brother Nier so pretty Yeah okay you got me he's kind of hot. Kaine's expression when she wakes up and looks him over is... significantly easier to read now. Good voice, too. (Ancient rumors tell that one of the issues with international releases of RepliCant was that they couldn't find an English VA with a voice that 'fit' Brother Nier. He sounded good out the gate but hearing him growl "Let's go TAKE CARE of those KIDS" during the thief sidequest-- I got chills. It sounds so silly but there's a kind of percolating fury to that delivery. Papa Nier was like frustrated but mostly disappointed dad; I felt like Brother was going to take care of those kids, and nobody was going to find the bodies. Younger Brother Nier just never stops looking goofy to me but Older Brother just looks great in motion, between the alterations they made to the movement and just the entire weaponry system. The distinction between the two halves of the game was always a little odd in the Gestalt version-- not odd enough to really raise eyebrows if you didn't know about RepliCant, but of course you can tell that this age gape between the optimistic doe-eyed dogooder and a man largely ruled by his fury and calloused by tragedy is what the timeskip was going for. Swab me down and call me Ishmael, it works. Younger Brother wasn't quite clicking with me-- not because of any writing or voicework issues, but I've got Papa Nier on the back of my mind and it's impossible not to compare and contrast the delivery and dialogue between the two. I know that this is intentional, too; Younger Brother is supposed to be that happy-go-lucky video game protagonist, always doing the right thing and helping people, in order to contrast against the man he becomes. Even just edging into Part II the effect is dramatic and it recontextualizes Younger Brother into a much more effective overall character. And let me reiterate, I enjoyed my time with Younger Brother just fine, I have no issues with him. But he's up against Well Meaning Big Dummy Part I Papa Nier. No contest. And I'm excited to see where Older Brother goes from here.

Speaking of voices I mentioned this before but the delivery on the character's lines is different. The entire game was re-recorded and quite a few lines are still pretty similar to the original, but there are some that are... definitely different. Part of this is a difference in the relationship between characters based on their life experience and ages-- Weiss is much more of an ass to Younger Brother but has a much more even respect for Older Brother (neither of which are like the rapport he established with Father). Some of Kaine's lines feel more aloof, dismissive, and almost tired in the front half of the game. I haven't really gotten to a point to dig into Emil's rapport with the other characters, but the delivery feels more hesitant and uncertain (which I think is more in line with his Japanese VO, but I'm prefacing that on an untrained ear and a presumption rather than recent memory). It's been interesting to see not just where hey adjusted dialogue (and how-- there are some lines that didn't need to be rewritten), but also how they adjust tone and delivery. Dealing with Younger Brother is one thing, but as I said, I'm very excited to see what's different in the second half, especially being much more familiar with that part of the game. Speaking of Voices! Halua got dialogue! I... preferred when it was inferred (and the implications of "I'll always be watching over you" are borderline malicious given the results of their fusion dance, yeah THANK YOU HALUA this is GREAT). Halua's delivery also felt a little too innocent and upbeat both for the situation and when compared to her narrative voice in The Stone Flower, where she comes across as much more cynical and cold. But given what she's been through and the nightmare she's finally escaping I guess she's allowed express happiness. She's certainly earned the right to having a spoken line. No matter what. Every fuckin' time.

"Here we go." This was always a great line to kind of ease in to the officially-official start of Part II-- every time you start up a New Game+ you're greeted with Emil musing about his conflation of Halua to Kaine, and then the phrase "Here we go". There's a lot in that one line. On a personal level he's grounding his thoughts in the moment and steeling himself for what comes next and pushing through his pain and sadness and fear. Whatever Nier told him in the facility he's still terrified, desperately terrified, that Kaine -- who was the one who told him his life had meaning -- is going to reject him. And why wouldn't she? Ultimately they don't know each other, not really. He understands at that moment that his relationship with Kaine is based on confused memories of his sister, that maybe the bond he thought they established isn't actually real. As soon as he frees Kaine he's going to have to confront her, like this, and how could she ever-- she won't-- but he can't just leave her. Whatever happens next. Doesn't matter. Doesn't matter. (God it matters.) "Here we go." On a meta level, that's our introduction into the second half of the game. The first half is all prologue. This is where we'll be spending the rest of our time, even to the point that 'New Game+' skips straight ahead to this moment. Now that we've finished the establishment, this is where it all builds and where it all matters. Here we go, audience. The ride starts now. You get up to this point now in Replicant. You get the same lead-in. My dumb ass even whispered "Here we go", because I can't help myself. And he says, of course he says--! "Anyway." ... ...a-anyway? What the hell kind of line is that? "Here's some deeply personal musings that are also an indication of my own discomfort as I babble to myself just to fill the void so I can stave off thinking for just a few more seconds. ANYWAY." What a... bizarre decision. Just bizarre.

Upgraded melee combat The introduction to the armored Shades always feel kind of rough-- the defenses on those Shades are significantly higher than anything you've faced and the new weapons you're given to combat them just aren't that good. (If you got lucky you could have a fully-upgraded Faith by now, which is nearly three times as powerful as the 'heavy' two-handed sword you're given; if you downloaded the 4 YoRHa pack for Replicant you've probably been able to upgrade one of those weapons once, which are also a really nice strength boost that leaves the freebie heavy swords and spears in the dust). As an introduction to the new weapon types it always feels like rough going. But then you get a chance to get decent weapons and the combat system truly opens up, and compared to the first game you really feel it. At this juncture I would always just bustle off to Facade and grab the Phoenix Spear and never look back-- the raw power compared to the rest of your arsenal coupled with the triangle dash is basically the bread and butter of the rest of the game. It's not exciting, but it's effective. No more triangle dashing, which was deeply disappointing... but both weapons definitely feel good. I am also somewhat ashamed to admit that it wasn't until now that I realized attacks weren't just about rhythmic input-- you can hold the attacks down to do different charged hits and combos depending on when you execute them in your combo, similar to Automata. I, uh... I felt a bit dumb. But hey, wow, it's a welcome adjustment and it makes all of the weapon types feel equally valuable for different purposes. I never liked using the heavy blades in the original release because they just felt too slow for the damage output they did, even if their 'point' was mostly to sheer off armor (and they definitely felt too slow for use in crowd control). Now they're still heavy and slower, but not to the point that you're basically leaving yourself open just trying to attack. Spears now do crazy sweeping combos and multi-hits. Both of these properties were borrowed from Automata and I find myself prioritizing melee combat and almost forgetting I have magic because honestly it just feels intuitive and fun. I feel like Kaine and Emil might have gotten a power boost as well? Not that I can really confirm this but going into some of the Junk Heap rooms I'd focus on killing a few robots in the corner and then turn around and just see a field of item drops and no more robots. Don't take my word on that, of course, but they felt a little more effective, and a placebo effect is still an effect. "You're staging a protest? That's fun!" Emil. Rebel without a cause. Will not hesitate to kill you if you trespass on his property. (Might explain the statues in the courtyard, actually.) I'll have to double-check this dialogue because I definitely remember more of a melancholia before we get to roasting marshmallows. I think Papa Nier actually offers to talk to/implicitly threaten the villagers to let them in the Village whereas Brother offers to sleep outside with them... which is actually kind of funny. In the former it comes off as Emil and Kaine maybe kinda-sorta not wanting to be allowed in the Village for their own reasons (they're not happy reasons but they're reasons nonetheless) and reassuring Father that no, it's okay, it's fun! The latter is almost telling Brother to stay inside because he'll ruin their sleepover.

(They're absolutely having giggly girl talk about him outside the gates, 100%.) they ran over the seals All I want in Seafront is to enjoy the music and run out to the big beach and hang out with the last living seals and they put a fucking pirate ship on top of them. Oh, wow. Gideon. Wow. OG Nier featured a Gideon that tried to keep himself together and then had fits of mania. You'd be concerned about him during some of the dialogue but generally speaking he came across as... functional. The delivery on all of his lines is now so insanely murder bonkers, like every line he's addressing you like you're already chained to the wall of his serial killer dungeon and it's glorious. I don't know if the distinction between the games is deliberate (in that Gideon in Gestalt was just more even-keeled between his 'rip 'em apart' snarlings and was always just totally nutso in RepliCant) but I do appreciate it. It's a good mirror to Brother Nier's own anger, which only ever seems to be mollified when he's talking to his friends (even kindly accepting sidequests there's a pretty consistent -- not universal, but consistent -- air of barely-bridled frustration). The other characters that Brother encounters are various reflections of himself if things had just been a little different-- Gideon was a representation of the kind of obsessive madness that would have eaten Brother alive if he hadn't had his network of support. Gideon's constant fury and bloodlust even bleeds into him just saying "What can I do for you?" He has no anchor to keep himself sane, nobody to stay human for; he's all mania, all anger, and he only takes any real interest in Brother on his return because he sees an opportunity to act out his vengeance. After defeating Beepy and Kalil he even goes so far as to not only blame Beepy for killing Jakob, but for also killing their mother, which is patently insane but really speaks to how far his justifications and fury have taken him. Papa Nier responds to his anger toward Beepy by basically backing away slowly and saying "Oookay then". Brother, however, actually commiserates; "That's enough. [...] We get it. We really do." This is definitely one of those moments where Brother's context works better than Father's; he absolutely sees himself in Gideon. He completely understands him and sympathizes. He recognizes the madness of his own quest, he sees where it could take him, and there's a resignation when he speaks to Weiss: "Revenge is a fool's errand." "...yeah." Papa Nier has a similar delivery and similarly implies that he understands how terrible his quest is, but there's something decidedly haunting in Brother's sympathy. Also just verifying something on the wiki and this bit of 'Trivia' really jumped at me:

Gideon is the only character to only cause the deaths of other characters. In his case, he caused a platform to crush Jakob and ordered the deaths of P-33 and Kalil, with P-33 surviving.

Metal AF.

#NieR #NieR Replicant #Rambling #He will always say 'here we go' in my heart #And that's probably a serious medical condition

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years ago

Note

Could you combine 15 transformation and 18 amulet for Sternclay nsfw, please? Joseph can’t get close enough to any mers to study them because of how deep they live beneath the surface. Thanks to a treasure he found on the beach that’s about to change and a world he couldn’t have imagined is about to open wide.

Here you go! Barclay is an Pacific Octopus in this and Joseph is based on an Orca.

It’s such a small thing. A piece of eight, pierced and strung on a corroded silver chain; the treasure he’s searched for the last two years.

Joseph’s never been so close to tears in his entire career.

He promised his superiors he wouldn’t experiment with occult objects while working alone. But he knows for damn sure that all of them think his beliefs in the occult, or the city beneath the sea, is foolishness, the price they have to pay for an otherwise talented agent.

It’s only due diligence to see if the amulet is dangerous while he’s alone on his boat, rather than near fellow agents or innocent bystanders.

Joseph strips down to his swim trunks, climbs down into the water, amulet wrapped around his fingers so he won’t drop it. Treading water, he slips the chain over his head. His legs twists, heat engulfing his body, and he sinks beneath the waves.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Dani, how’s table five doing?”

“Good!” Dani picks up the two plates of seaweed salad, “think it’s slowing down finally.”

“Thank fuck.” Barclay murmurs, turning back to the cutting board. He falls into his rhythm as guests gradually filter and flit away from their tables back onto the street and towards Atlantis proper. His focus is broken by a body colliding with a chair.

“Ouch.”

“Are you okay sir?” Dani, on top of things as always.

“Oh, yes, better than if I’m being honest. I’m just, um, having some trouble with my tail.”

“Right. Uh, here, we only have room at the counter right now, but if you want a table-”

“This is perfect, thank you so much.”

A clamor, and out of the corner of his eye Barclay sees an eight top swim in the door.

“I got him, Dani.” He turns and all eight tentacles freeze mid-task. Sitting on the stool is the most incredible merman he’s ever seen. His short, black hair dusts his forehead, leading his gaze to eyes as blue as the open sea. His torso is lean, a small tattoo on either arm, two scars on his chest, and a stomach that suggests his job requires a great deal of athleticism.

And his tail?

His tail is black and white, smooth rather than scaled, and Barclay wants to wrap all eight tentacles around it while he sinks his teeth into the mers neck.

The other mer notices him, smiles politely, and goes back to studying the menu.

“Do you need a few minutes to decide?”

That perfect brow creases, as if the other mer can’t make sense of what he’s looking at, “Um, what do you recommend?”

“I mean, I like to think everything on the menu is good, but the crab rolls are really good this time of year.”

“I’ll have those then, please and thank you.”

Barclay nods, returns to his station, churning out orders as Dani and Jake bring them, and calling directions to Thacker when the older mer returns from his ten minute break. The entire time, he aches to turn around and watch the newcomer. But even though he can move through his kitchen blindfolded, he’d rather not take off his own tentacle. Sure, it’ll grow back, but last time one got bit off, it threw his whole cooking routine out of whack.

The new mers face lights up when Barclay sets the plate in front of him, and he eats with an enthusiasm that is the sexiest thing Barclay’s seen at work in years. Now and then, the mer starts to float away from his stool, or accidentally takes out the nearby furniture with his tail.

When he’s finished, he compliments Barclay profusely, smiling right up until Barclay tells him how much it will be.

“Oh no. I, I don’t, I can’t pay that.”

“If you’re a few coins short I could discount it-”

“No, no that’s not it. I, I didn’t bring any money with me. It didn’t even occur to me.” He says this last part to himself, carding his hand through his hair, “I’m so sorry, this is entirely my oversight. Is there anything else I can do to cover the meal?”

Barclay bites back his first thought, schooling the tentacle creeping towards the mers hand back into line, “Uh, you know how to wash dishes?”

“Yes. In fact, I’m pretty good at it.”

This does not turn out to be a joke. His new dishwasher is somehow meticulous and efficient, leaving not only the plates but the entire kitchen spotless by the time Barclay tells him he can go. He’s still bumping into things, his tail obviously not doing what he wants it to.

“If you don’t mind waiting a bit, I can swim you home. This neighborhood isn’t as bad as most mers think, but it’s still not a great place to be drunk and alone.

The mer blinks, taken aback, “I’m not drunk.”

Barclay raises his eyebrow.

“Really, I’m not.”

“No offense, but your tail only works like sixty percent of the time and, going from those bruises on your side, looks like you’ve been having that problem most of today.”

“I mean, I have but, um, not for that reason. I’m just very clumsy.”

“O-kay” Barclay’s about to reiterate his offer, but the other mer is already swimming out the door.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry, thank you again for being so understanding about the meal!”

Barclay’s not about to chase down a customer, but his tentacles go a little pale the rest of the night whenever he remembers he never even got his name.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“My, my good sir, this is quite a treasure trove you’ve brought me!” The merman with a gold and orange tail who introduced himself as Ned Chicane, preeminent archiver of human items. Were they on land, Joseph would be positive that Ned has several warrants out for his arrest. For all he knows, that’s the case down here too, but he hasn’t gotten to learning about the Atlantian legal system yet.

“What can I say, I’m an expert on humans.” Joseph smiles.

“I can make a whole new wing of the museum for these. Now, about your payment, I can give you, hmmmmm, two hundred coins?”

“Five hundred.”

“Two fifty.”

“No.”

“Three hundred.”

“I can just take it all back.”

“Fine, fine, four fifty but now higher.”

Joseph flicks his tail, pleased, “Deal.”

Ten minutes later, he’s cresting the subterranean hills, Atlantis glittering in the distance. The ruins of the sunken city form the skeleton of it’s current incarnation. The whole city is now a reef, a rainbow of coral growing from once proud columns or taking the place of formidable walls. The buildings are made of stone or glass which, upon further research, he learned was made by enchanting sand, in much the same way the coins are. But even there, the stones are speckled with sea plants or coral.

It’s beautiful, and if he has his way he’ll explore every street. He’s already swum the length and breadth of it, half to build up his skill with his tail and half to create a map of it in his mind. The center of the city shines like sunken treasure, unmistakably built and maintained by forces other than nature. The outer neighborhoods are rougher around the edges, more of the houses built into the environment rather than from it. That doesn’t make it any less beautiful.

Besides, it has the best food in the city.

He’s used the same trick of asking what his cook or server recommends to hide the fact he can’t read the language on the menus, and after selling a few things second hand, he stumbled on Ned’s museum and knew he could make enough in one go that he won’t have to surface for several days. None of the places he’s gone can even compare to the first establishment, but he’s been unwilling to go back to it until he’s damn sure he can pay the handsome cook what he’s due.

“Hello again.” He waves politely from his spot at the counter.

The cook turns, tentacles still sitting and chopping and flipping away, “Hey! Good to see you again.”

“I even have money this time.”

“Dunno, might just make you do dishes again. Cutlery’s never looked so good.” He winks. One tentacle sets down a spoon, creeping towards Joseph. Barclay notices, pulls it back, and asks, “what’ll you have?”

“What’s good today?”

The answer is shrimp wraps, seasoned so perfectly Joseph wishes it was customary for merpeople to lick their plates.

“So good” He sighs, more to himself than anyone else, as he watches Barclay work. Do all tentacled mers take up this kind of profession? It seems like mechanics or other hands-on jobs might also benefit. Do they use them to show affection? Is that allowed?

“All done?”

“Yes. It was incredible, just like last time.”

“Glad to hear it. So” his tentacles clear the counter as Barclay continues talking with him, “you enjoying Atlantis? Seems like you’re pretty new here.”

“Very. I’m from a ways away. I...I’ve never seen anything like this place. It’s breathtaking. I’m even getting better at not just bumbling my way down random streets, hoping to find something interesting.”

“Uh, if, if you want, I’m happy to show you around, Can’t get you into hip parties or anything, but I know where all the good food is, and some of my friends work at some really cool places.”

Joseph tries not to squeal with glee, “That would be fantastic!”

Barclay grins, blush creeping up his cheeks, which Joseph sincerely hopes has the same meaning it does for humans, “I get off at sunset.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

“You know, when I asked you to take me to your favorite place, I suspected it was food based, but I never envisioned this.” Joseph stares at the massive marketplace, the woven seaweed ceiling studded with glowing shells and the floor is filled with miles of stalls, piled high with all kinds of ingredients and delicacies.

As they swim deeper into the market, Barclay stops to examine different foods, chatting with vendors and buying Joseph so many snacks he jokes the mer will have to carry him home.

“Happy to” Barclay rubs his cheek against Joseph’s own. This startled him the first time it happened, but he hid it well enough to not reveal his secret. It seems to be a general expression of fondness between mers, but he gets pleasant chills whenever Barclay’s beard tickles his skin.

The first time it happened, Barclay had taken him to see the massive aquatic gardens that form one of the central rings of town. Barclay’s friend, Duck, is head gardener and was more than happy to answer Joseph’s many, many questions. At some point, Joseph apologized for asking so much. Barclay swam closer, rubbed their cheeks together, and told him not to be sorry for being excited about something.

“I don’t know, I’m not a small mer.” He teases; his height stayed with him when he put on the amulet

Barclay twines three tentacles around his waist and yanks him closer, “Trust me, I could carry you and the groceries home without getting the least bit tired.”

“I see that.” He whispers.

The mer leans in a millimeter then stops, letting Joseph go, “C’mon, gotta show you the place with the best sea blossom wine you’ve ever had.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“This was incredible, thank you so much for bringing me.” Joseph bumps their shoulders together as they swim out of the Atlantis History Museum. The other mer’s face lit up when Barclay showed him where they were, making him so handsome that Barclay nearly missed his tentacles trying to pet his tail. Joseph will swim arm in arm with him, rub their cheeks together, even dance with him the one time they went to a party that didn’t involve Duck eagerly teaching Joseph new board games and Aubrey beating him at them. But getting felt up is a conversation they haven’t had yet.

At least he finally got an explanation for why Joseph seems so lost at times; apparently, the town he’s from is so remote, the dialect of Atlantian he knows is different enough from the standard that he can’t read the signs in the city. Which meant Barclay read the informational plaques in the museum to him. His throat is a little sore from all the talking, but Joseph’s delight is more than worth it.

They say goodnight, Joseph keeping them cheek to cheek in order to hug him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He’s nearly out of sight when Barclay realizes he still has the robe Joseph bought as a souvenir in his bag, so he swims after him, using his tentacles to track his trail when he loses sight of him. Soon he’s outside the bounds of the city and wondering where in the hell Joseph even lives, because the homes out here are sparse.

When Joseph turns surfacewards, Barclay wills his tentacles to propel him faster; doesn’t the other mer see the hull of the boat above them? Someone could see him, hurt him, or he could get sliced by a motor.

Barclay’s about to call his name when Joseph breaks the surface. The words die in his mouth, their corpses floating out and away in the tides as his friend’s tail turns to legs. He swims upwards, and when he peeks into the air a human with an unmistakable face is drying himself off on the deck of the small boat.

“What the fuck, Joseph?”

“SHIT!” Joseph jumps backwards, startled, then seems to register who Barclay is, “shit, Barclay, I can explain everything.”

“You don’t need to, it’s pretty fucking obvious you’re human and you’ve been pretending to be a mer for, for what? So you can tell the other humans where we are? How to catch us?”

“No” Joseph drops to his knees, shuffling to the edge of the ladder, “no, never. I’d never let anyone hurt you, or any other mer. I’m an FBI agent, with an assignment to learn whether or not merfolk exist and, if they do, what that means for humans. I...I’ve searched for some kind, any kind of proof that mers exist, and that led me to this” he holds up the necklace he always wears, “which transforms me into a mer.”

“So I was what, a research subject?” Barclay crosses his arms to cover the crack he’s certain his forming in his chest.

“A guide. A friend. Barclay, I thought Atlantis was more incredible and wondrous than anything else in the world. Then I met you, and saw it could be even more wonderful when seen through the eyes of someone I care about.”

“If you care about me, why did you lie to me?”

“I didn’t want to blow my cover. Even if I told you, if the word got out that I was really human, everyone else may have barred me from the city. Kept me from all the things there are to learn. Kept me from you.”

Barclay wants to say it’s fine, that he understands and isn’t angry, that he’ll see him tomorrow. But his heart feels like it’s been dragged across miles of jagged rock.

“Well, good news, Joseph. The rest of the city won’t keep you from me, because I don’t wanna see you for a long, long time.”

He sinks before Joseph can reply and trawls the sand all the way home, too tired to swim.

------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph stays out of the water for two weeks. He sails into port, stocking up on supplies and using the wi-fi in the little library to send in his reports. He’s never lied in a report before. First time for everything.

When he finally slips the amulet on again, the plan is to swim the opposite direction of Atlantis, looking for new pockets of mers to learn from (and how aren’t angry with him). The trouble is, he’s only submerged for a few minutes when his whole body shudders and his head aches. He feels feverish, frantic, like he’s on the edge of the panic attack. Then he’s in the center of a panic attack because he realizes his foggy and pounding head has led him the wrong direction and he’s now floating aimlessly through a familiar neighborhood. Then his abdomen cramps and he doubles forward with a groan.

“Joseph?”

He manages to turn, finds Barclay peering out his door, worried.

“H-hi. I, I didn’t come here on purpose, I swear. I, I don’t know what’s happening. I feel sick.” He closes his eyes as another shudder rattles his spine.

A tentacle gently wraps around his wrist, guiding him into the house, “Joseph, I-”

“Wait, please, let me say something first. I, I’m so, so sorry Barclay. I should have told you sooner, should have trusted you, you deserved to know I was human. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I hope you know I regret it with every fiber of my being.”

Strong arms loop around his shoulder and a coppery beard tickles his cheek, “Apology accepted. Yeah, it fucking sucked to find out you’d been lying but, uh, I realized I didn’t want to lose you. I just couldn’t figure out how to reach out again and I didn’t wanna fuck things up.”

Joseph clings to him, “Thank the lord. I have no idea how severe this illness is, and if it turns out to be fatal I didn’t want to die without you knowing how much you meant to me.”

Barclay laughs, the most confusing reaction possible.

“You’re not dying, Joseph. You’re in heat.”

“.....I didn’t know that was a thing that could happen. How could you even tell?” He pulls back, finds Barclay’s pupils so wide his eyes look black.

“I can smell it. Most mers can, but these suckers are especially sensitive to it” he wiggles his tentacles.

“So I need to get off and I’ll stop feeling like this, right?”

“Basically, yeah. You’ll probably be really horny for a few days, but the aching and stuff will stop. Oh, that probably feels like you’re dying; if you didn’t know this was a thing you could experience, your body probably thought all the adrenaline you’re supposed to use to help you have a bunch of sex in a short amount of time was a sign something was seriously wrong.”

“That makes sense.” He tentatively rubs his stomach, trying to make the muscles ache less, “uh, how should-”

“Oh fuck, right, uh, I’ve got a little guest room. You can hole up there if you want.”

He’s so sweet. He’d be such a good mate.

“I’ve got a few toys too. I could, uh, clean ‘em so you can use them.”

He’s thoughtful too.

Joseph shakes his head to clear his increasingly Barclay-focused thoughts, “Thank you. I’ll use the room but not the toys. The problem is I, um, literally don’t know what to do.”

“.......”

“......I figured out how to go to the bathroom but that was the extent of my exploration of that area.”

“.......you didn’t get the least bit curious?”

“I had lots of other things to focus on. I didn’t have time to masturbate when there was an entire civilization to learn about!”

Barclay full on guffaws, draping his arms around Joseph’s shoulders, “That is the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever, babe.” He nuzzles Joseph’s hair, several tentacles gently stroking the tip of his tail.

“Barclay? Will you, um, will you help me?”

A darker chuckle, “That’s cute too. My favorite interloper needs me to help him find his dick.”

“Ohmylord” He shivers as the hold on his tail tightens.

“Got yourself the best fucking body I’ve ever seen on a mer but not idea how to make it feel good.”

“Barclay please” He whines, only for a tentacle tip to press against his lips, shushing him while Barclay firmly but tenderly rubs his back.

“I’ll help you babe, don’t worry. First you gotta tell me how you like it.”

“I, um, I like being tied down. And given orders. But, but we don’t have to do any of that if you don’t want to. All I want is to be with you.”

“I wanna be with you too, babe. And I’ve got an idea.” The mer guides them into his bedroom; it’s so charmingly Barclay-like, pictures of food and friends on the walls, deep green and blue in the windows and the glass containing the lights.

“Lay down for me.”

Joseph wriggles down onto the bed. Barclay opens a carved coral dresser, pulling out two lengths of seagrass rope. He settles at the foot of the bed, begins tying one rope around the base of Joseph’s tail as his tentacles caress the black and white skin, “I’ve wanted to touch your tail since we met.”

“I c-could tell.”

“That why you were always waving it in my face?” Barclay ties the rope to one of the bedposts.

“I did no such thing.”

A tentacle tightens around his waist, “Don’t lie, babe.”

“Okay, I did it once or twice.”

“That’s better. Wrists in front of you.”

He obeys instantly. Soft green rope twines around his wrists, Barclay checking to be sure it’s not too tight before lifting his hands to his mouth to kiss each in turn.

“Now, here’s what you’re gonna do. Since you’ve got no idea how to get off, I’m gonna tell you exactly what to do. Then you’re gonna reward me like the well-behaved mate I know you can be.”

“Holyshityes.” He strains up to kiss him. Barclay obliges, kisses slow and deep until heat rippled up and down his tail.

“Let’s see” Barclay continues kissing him, cupping his face in his hands, as two tentacles tease the upper part of his tail, “guessing you don’t know what kind of set-up you have.”

“Not at all. You’ll have to explain it to me. Which is in stark contrast to how I usually have to explain my dick to partnersOH, ohshit” He bucks his hips as one tentacle presses a sensitive patch of his tail.

“There it is. Start touching there, you should be able to reach it.”

Joseph slides his hands down to where the tentacle is still tormenting him with pleasure. Barclay pulls back, watches hungrily as Joseph rubs himself. Whenever the sensation intensifies the tip of his tail curls, so he chases those sensations.

“Go faster.”

He moves his fingers in swift circles, gasps as a slit begins opening beneath them.

“That’s it babe, open up for me.”

“I, it’s, ohwhatthefuck?” small tendrils emerge from the slit, three of them curling around his fingers. He tugs experimentally and moans when it sends a wave of delight from head to tail.

“Oh this is gonna be fun” Barclay watches his hand toy with the tendrils, the thicker ones hardening when he rubs them, “you’re doing so good, Joseph, you’re getting the hang of it real fast.”

“ThaAAAAnk you.”

“Get some of those fingers inside, babe, fuck yourself for me.”

He pushes two fingers in, his body slick and oddly ridged the further he gets. Joseph has to curl forward to go deeper, whimpering as the tendrils catch and tug on his hand.

A tentacle wraps around his tail and twists, making him cry out in surprise and delighted pain.

“What part of fuck yourself was unclear?”

He moves his fingers faster, adds a third one and hears Barclay growl in reply.

“How’s that feel?”

“Good, so good, fuck, Barclay, I think I can cum from this.”

“You better. Keep playing with those upper tendrils, they’ve got more nerves in them.”

“Nnngh” following Barclay’ instructions sends a spike of pleasure into his stomach, “shit, I never cum this fast.”

“Could be the heat” Barclay swims closer, “or being a mer instead of human. Or maybe” a slit opens in the fold between his front tentacles, “maybe you just needed someone to tie you up and boss you around the right way, because you’re a horny little thing who needs to be put in his place.”

“Ohfuck.” He cums, tightening around his fingers, tingling from the slick they’re now coated in. It’s much slower than a human orgasm, and as he shakes and whimpers Barclay uses all the appendages he can to soothe his burning muscles and caress his too-sensitive skin.

“That was so good babe. You pick stuff up so quick, you’re so smart, love that about you.”

“Lord almighty” he gulps down oxygen, “if it’s that good on my own, I can’t wait to see how it is with you.”

“You still wanna do that now? We don’t have to, you can rest, I can bring you lunch-”

“Barclay, if you do not claim your reward right now I’ll, I’ll” he searches for a threat, but all he comes up with is, “I’ll find someone who will.”

A tentacle yanks his wrists up and back, pinning them above his head.

“Not a fucking chance, babe. Why do you think I tied you down? You’re all mine” another tentacle drapes across his neck, “and you’re gonna do what I want, for as long as I want you to.”

“Yes” Joseph arches off the bed, allowing Barclay to loop an arm beneath his shoulder blades. His free hand rests on Joseph’s hip, keeping him in place as a long, ridged cock presses into him, “shit, Barclay, that’s incredible, fuck that feels good.”

“Glad to hear it, handsome, because that’s where my cock is gonna stay for at least the next hour.” He rocks his hips, and Joseph’s tendrils cling to the base of his cock, making Joseph moan with every motion.

Barclay pauses, looking down with a thoughtful expression, “You know one of the best things about this kind of set-up?”

Panting, he shakes his head.

“You can take a whole hell of a lot at once.” With that, two tentacles shove in alongside his cock.

“SHIT!” He thrashes as Barclay snaps his hips, his cock driving deep with every thrust and the tentacles writhe and press and stroke, and at this rate he’s certain he’ll lose his voice

Barclay brings them face to face, “H-here’s what we’re gonna do. I’m gonna kiss you, and you’re gonna kiss back like a good mate, and you’re not gonna stop kissing until I cum. If you’re gonna scream and beg like a needy little mer, it’s gonna be only me that hears it, not the, fuck, the whole fucking neighborhood.”

Joseph nods and Barclay smashes their mouths together. To his joy, he discovers that gills mean you can kiss for as long as you want without stopping to breathe.

When Barclay comes it’s with the most delicious sound he’s ever heard. The two tentacles alongside his cock press Joseph further open, which turns out to be very necessary because Barclay immediately begins fucking his cum back into him. At that sensation, Joseph cums a second time, wrists twisting in the rope.

Barclay grins at him, “You see how things work now?”

“Definitely. But, um, I think I could use as many demonstrations as you’re up for.”

“In that case, babe, it’s time for your next lesson. Open your mouth.”

-----------------------------------------------

“Hey Barclay, Dani asked me to drop--woah, what the fuck happened to you?” Aubrey takes in his disheveled state and the bite marks covering his chest.

“Joseph and I made up.”

“Clearly. Didn’t know humans bit during sex.”

“I think that might just be a him thing. Uh, what did Dani want?”

“We made some cookies! They were supposed to be a feel-better present, but I guess now it’s a” she bounces her eyebrows “congratulatory one.”

“Get outta here you” Barclay smiles, “and tell Dani thanks.” He waves goodbye, shuts the door, and carries the treats into the bedroom where Joseph is fucked out and fast asleep. He knows Joseph has to go to the surface today for work, but they can eat these when he gets back. After all, they’ve decided they’re mates now, and Barclay couldn’t be happier.

He should probably get him a guide to learning Atlantian, though. He;s gonna flip his shit when he finds out about the Atlantis Library.

#sternclay #agent stern/ Barclay #mermay #mermay fills

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creativerogues · 5 years ago

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Using In-Game Props in your D&D Game...

Potions & Brews

This is probably the easiest and cheapest D&D Prop you can make yourself!

All you need is some glass jars or test tubes and vials, which you can get all from your local craft store, and fill them with different soft drinks and different coloured sodas to represent various D&D potions:

A Cherry Red Potion for a Healing Potion is the first thing that springs into my mind: And it’s an actual healing potion you can drink!

Now if you’re not into that thing, you can always take a look at “Healing Potion Kits”, which are essentially fancy glass vials filled with colourful resins with a number of dice equal to the rarity of the potion.

Either way, it’s relatively cheap to make, and pretty cheap to buy pre-made.

I have my own Healing Potion Set: Four little glass jars with a red resin inside and d4′s for each rarity of healing potion, and it only cost me about ~$26 USD, and that’s including all the Shipping and Handling stuff.

Whenever the Party finds or buys Healing Potions, I hand one of these bad boys to that Player, and they just keep it with their Character until they use it, roll the dice, and hand it back when they’re done...

Bonus: And because I like to brag sometimes, I like to use the skills of my many friends to build some awesome D&D Props.

And with one Friend being a Graphic Designer and another being trained to use a bunch of Glass Engraving Gear, I can proudly say I have a bottle of actual “Dragon’s Breath” Brand Whiskey (a Famous Brand in my D&D World), with a Custom Designed Logo that’s been engraved onto the fanciest whiskey bottle I could find...

Did I need this? Probably not... Is it cool? Heck yeah!

Wands, Daggers & Weapons

Now, obviously you probably don’t want to give your Players actual knives and daggers, so take a look at LARP Weapons!

You can get Daggers, Swords, Axes, Wands, Staffs and more, with most of them being a little expensive, but often times worth it...

I bought an “Assassin’s Sword” as a Prop for my game, since the Player’s are currently on the hunt for a forgotten forge from ages past, and are trying to forge a Silver Sword in a desperate attempt to stop a War with the Githyanki of the Astral Sea.

To buy this Prop ‘Silver Sword’, and the stuff I need to maintain it (just to make sure the sword doesn’t break), it cost about ~$100 USD, which ain’t cheap, but since it’s a Prop sword, it’s gonna get a lot of use...

But if you’re a DM on a Budget, you can buy some very fancy wooden wands and daggers from places like Dog Might Games, who do Custom Wooden Weapons like Daggers, Wands and even Big Ass Hammers from prices of $39 USD upwards.

And as someone who owns two Custom Wooden Wands, it’s fantastic!

I have a Flame Birch Imperial Wand to represent a “Wand of Fireballs”, and an Ebony Necromancer’s Wand to represent a “Wand of Fear”.

Both are really well done, and the faces you get when you hand your Wizard or Sorcerer an actual Wand of Fireballs... priceless...

Maps

Maps are a good thing to hand your Players, because they read “Big Bad Forest up North” and think “We should go there sometime...”

Now, you can draw a map yourself with various pieces of software, or you could even Commission an Artist to draw one for you, with the Prices being anywhere from $40 to well over $200+.

Now, obviously that depends on the detail of the map, and the map’s size, but if you just so happen to know a bunch of Artists and Cartographers, you could easily get a map done for pretty cheap...

I luckily have a bunch of Artists for friends, so I just send them my VERY rough details of a Map, and they draw it out, and with one of my friends being an actual geography student, she really does know where rivers, mountains and forests should be, resulting in a beautifully accurate map of the local area for the Players to explore...

And yes, I pay everyone for their time and their art, because you should, that’s what decent people do...

Wanted Posters

Similar to maps, but a bit more exclusive. If you have an artsy friends, or you’re artsy yourself, it’s pretty easy to create an old western style wanted poster for one of your Player’s Characters, or even the whole darn Party!

Luckily none of my Players have been that naughty lately, but I was in a Game recently were our Party had just escaped from an assassination attempt on the Queen’s life and had to leave town, only to sneak through the City Gates a couple of sessions later to find our faces plastered over every wall...

That was when the DM handed us her Custom-Made Wanted Posters, with each Players face right above the words ‘WANTED’.

Scrolls

Spell Scrolls, Scrolls of Protection, whatever you want to call them; you can find a bunch of spell scrolls online from some absolutely fantastic artists...

My personal favourite at the moment are the Scrolls from Arcane Scrollworks and SkeletonKeyGames, who produce some absolutely freakin’ fantastic looking spell scrolls for prices as little as $11.99 USD.

They do scrolls for the Arcane, Divine, Natural and you can get entire bundles of scrolls for less than $60 USD, which is great for a DM, or a Wizard wanting to expand their Spellbook...

Actually, speaking of Spellbooks...

Spellbooks

You can get some beautifully made, leather-bound spellbook-looking notepads and journals for your Wizard Player, or even for yourself.

It can make a great Journal to take notes on the session’s events, or as an actual prop with real runes, glyphs and arcane symbols drawn inside for the Wizard Player to decode with their 20 Intelligence...

Coins

Copper, Silver, Electrum, Gold, Platinum: There’s a lot of different Coins in D&D, and handing your Players a couple of real coppers definitely increases the immersion, and makes shopping for potions and magic items a little more tolerable...

You can buy a whole bunch of them online, I got 50 Coins (10 of each type) for less than $20 USD, and there are companies out there that specifically make coins for D&D, from elven coins to dwarvish coins, to freshly minted coins for adventures like Waterdeep: Dragon Heist...

Bonus: Invisible Ink!

Ever wanted to make the Rogue Player feel extra special? Or maybe the Wizard Player finally got the chance to cast Detect Magic on that magic scroll they found earlier.

Well Invisible Ink Pens and UV Lights can make the experience all the more badass.

Say you draw an arcane symbol on a piece of paper and hand it to the Wizard Player, when they cast Identify or Detect Magic on it, just hand them a UV Light and watch their faces light up (get it?) when they uncover the hidden writings beneath...

Or maybe you want the Rogue to decipher a hidden message, or maybe a secret riddle is hidden on the Dungeon Wall and can only be found by casting See Invisibility or Detect Magic...

Invisible Ink is is one of those things that I could find 10,000 uses for if given the time...

#dnd #DnD 5e #creativerogues #dnd props #props

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sweetsoursugarcube · 3 years ago

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I "recommended" Supernatural to my parents & youngest brother to watch together as a bad show with some funny moments and we had a good time laughing at the two first episodes of season one. Some highlights:

Dean does this fantastically stupid accent thing

They have a regular map with a huge X on the right cordinates, to the point you can't tell where exactly they're supposed to go

The elaborate research John had done on Weeping Woman and hung up on his walls, completed with some satanic references

The boys do research on a bulky computer in the library

Flip phones and payphones

Sam has a computer with a bunch of edgy stickers, one of which is a huge skull with crossbones lmao

Baby-faced Dean delivering the whole "saving people, hunting things, the family business" line. Iconic!

The sheer Americaness of the whole show. Current US is slightly (but not that much) humbler than it used to be and it always gives me a good kick

I had completely forgot the "Jerk" "Bitch" thing. The best was that our streaming service translated it as essentially "meanie" and "hag" 💀 Love to hate the casual sexism

Also wow. As a teen I didn't see it how they almost comically paint Dean as this James Bond type while Sam is the nerdy little brother. Like Dean's always more or less the main character, but it's painfully obvious now that it's been very much a setup from the get go to have him be the brave and strong, but emotionally stunted man with a heart of gold that we can all love. In the second episode (Wendigo) we have this pretty girl who gives Dean a kiss on the cheek as a thanks while Sam barely gets a goodbye, when Sam had literally been the one to shield the girl and her brothers from the monster with his own body 💀 While Dean is out running with the Big Gun in his hands, like manly men are supposed to do. Eat it, Sammy, you're nothing but a boy with your dusty, old books!

You might want to backlist "spn rewatch" if you don't want to join me on my nostalgia trip

#Supernatural #spn #spn s1 #e.txt #spn rewatch #i might even have some use for my degree here haha #I've unconsciously been teaching my dad how to analyze movies and series we watch together #he's picked up quite a lot honestly #and my youngest brother and mom too but to a lesser degree #they get to their skills on the first episode which is very predictable #it was great!

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goonlalagoon · 4 years ago

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We start small || Leagues and Legends

A series rewrite AU for @ink-splotch‘s fantastic Leagues and Legends books.

Spoilers for the whole trilogy below!

Read on Ao3

When George was fifteen, her village left her out for a dragon. The blacksmith slipped a knife up her sleeve as they went, and in the press of bodies she couldn't ask him why. She could only guess at what mercy he was handing her. The villagers would live with shame under their tongues for the rest of their lives, but they would live. The dragon ruled the hillside, great and golden, scales bright against the purple lupins that bloomed there every year, and they pretended it was fear that made them shudder at the sight.

Maybe Jack still survived the bandits who attacked the merchant caravan he was travelling with. Maybe he travelled on with them, bounced from place to place until he found a cause to throw himself into, on some distant shore far from the Forest where he had grown up. Maybe he didn't, one fourteen year old boy with no training and no battlefield experience, just a big heart and a bit of luck on his side.

There was no Dragon Slayer. It would be years before someone earned the old title Giantkiller, and it wouldn't be a red headed forest boy who tried to stand tall under the weight of that history.

Liam Jones powered the towns and villages of the mountains for weeks. The Seeress was almost blind with the burning light that drifted up through the floor, and the afterimage it left behind when it finally winked out was almost worse. There were no tales in the mountains of the Pied Piper.

Beatrice Tanner would never know any of their names.

On the day when in another life she might have opened her door and let a third soul into her shuttered heart, Bea woke as always before the sun to put the bread on to rise, and while the ovens warmed she rolled her dog eared map out over the old wooden table and traced her fingers over hidden paths and scant shelters. She had a network, small but growing, owed petty favours and moments of kindness. She had a list of lives saved, and a list of those she knew were at risk and could possibly be convinced to leave. She had a list of losses, a bitter sting under her tongue and a cold motivator to keep trying.

People still didn't believe her warnings, most of the time. They hushed her for telling children to be careful, to be hidden, and she did it anyway whenever she saw gold glittering in the corner of her eye, when she saw children play with sparks that didn't burn. Maybe they wouldn't believe her, but maybe they'd check over their shoulder anyway. Maybe the children would curl their hands into little fists and ignore the skin of the world pressing in on them, scared by this woman who hissed nightmares at them in the street. She didn't want children to be afraid, but she wanted them to be safe, and when there was a monster on the loose fear was what kept you alive.

She said as much, one day at a market, snapping warnings at children and glaring at the uniformed man who'd asked her what she was scaring children for. She had no patience for coddling, and she had little for the Bureau either. But this one blinked at her, and scratched at his clean shaven chin.

"Stealing mages? Say, d'you mind repeating all this to Sarge? He's the boss of our League, and this sounds like something we should know about." Bea eyed him suspiciously, but the possibility of getting more people to help outweighed her faint distaste for the Leagues.

It was only a few weeks later that May told her that it was really just May, not short for anything despite what the Bureau paperwork said. Bea wasn't quite sure whether this was a sign of trust or of just how much May wanted to get out of her padded armour and into something that didn't chafe quite as much on the healing gash down her side.

Sarge had sent coded reports back to headquarters, and was glaring at the responses. Flash was twisting his fingers, safe with his training and his league, staring sleepless at the ceiling with visions of those who weren’t keeping him awake. They couldn’t give themselves wholly to this cause; the Rangers had a job to do and it was one that badly needed doing - but part of their job was to keep people safe from monsters, so when they left they took some of her gathered information with them, and kept their eyes open.

They sent her news, dropped by the markets they knew she liked to give her the names of people who had helped, people who believed them when they whispered warnings. They sent people to her, frightened or angry or numb, but always desperate, and she sent them on. She didn't ask anyone to be a hero, because heroes were for stories and legends, for Bureau badges and official postings. She just asked people for a little bit of help, and then they offered it again and again.

It was over a year after she met them that they sent her the Giantkiller.

Kay had thick ropes of scarring over his side and arm, the pockmarks of claws pressed deep into his shoulder. He was a child when rocs tried to carry him off, struggling and screaming. He was lucky - the Rangers heard the commotion and brought the beast down, two arrows in its heart, a net of golden fire to catch him as he fell, to pour into gaping wounds and knit flesh back together. When they had to stay camped out for a day while the mage weathered an Elsewhere storm, their Guide showed him how to mix a paste to help the scars heal out of ingredients he could find within an hour’s walk of home.

His father's fury when he said after they left that he wanted to be a Leaguesman too was a burning thing, a bitter thing. He jerked his head down the road the Rangers left by, and listed every time they could have been of use before one lucky day. Kay fiddled with his spoon, because it was true - but that was the point of joining up, wasn't it? To be the person who was there when he was needed. But his father was bitter, furious, so he held his tongue.

When his father was out working in the field and Kay was supposed to be chopping wood, he fenced the air with a stick for a sword the way he'd watched May and Sarge practice in the early morning, as they let Flash sleep late to regain his strength and they kept a wary eye out for any returning rocs. He stumbled over his own feet and knew he was no good.

When he was younger, he'd practiced with his sling until his fingers blistered, and his father smiled over the small game he brought in, the crows he scared away from the crops with a sharp stone to the claws. Kay practiced still, every day, and now he imagined bigger targets.

The rocs came again, as they did every year, and one tried to carry off not a child but the neighbours' sheep. Kay sent it crashing back to the ground. Its neck snapped as it landed and he stood over it, shaking and fierce and frightened. The men arrived at a run from the barn, and Kay's father looked proud and scared and bitter.

"You see?" He said, later, when they’d butchered the carcass and he was watching Kay sort the feathers he'd asked to keep. "Rocs every damn year, and no Leagues here to help."

Kay hummed, non-committal, thinking but I was.

He was too young for the Leagues anyway, he knew. But he wasn't too young to help, so when there were rumours of Things haunting the woods nearby he slipped out his window in the grey dusk and went hunting. He had a handful of mage spelled stones, even if they were spelled for gentle warmth not damage, a gift from Flash to help ease the ache in healing limbs. The Things shrieked like the stones burned, and he was sick behind a bush afterward but the nest was gone, and Things shriek but he'd heard the families who’s homes were closer to the woods than his weeping too, and he knew which he'd choose. His father was pacing when he got home in the soft light of dawn, and he knew without asking where Kay had been. He knew what Kay was making himself into and he was furious and so scared, but Kay couldn't go back to waiting for someone else to save his people.

Kay set out the next morning, when his father was already out in the fields, working off his anger on the weeds. He packed a satchel of food and clothes, his sling and pouches of stones. He slipped the little carved flute his father made for his last birthday into the side of his bag, and set off down the road, refusing to look back.

When he met the Rangers again, it was in the shadow of a giant, the wreckage of a village. They were too late to help bring it down, but they found him digging through the fallen buildings for survivors. Sarge glanced at the sling at his hip first and Kay tensed. They were already whispering about him, the survivors, about the Giantkiller and his sling, and he knew the price of being a vigilante. Sarge said nothing, just gripped the other end of the beam he was trying to lift, hauling it up so Kay could drag the wounded boy underneath into the light.

They had a hushed conference, the Rangers and the Giantkiller, carefully out of sight because they could only shirk this particular duty if no one knew. May shook her head over him but bullied him through a basic staff work drill. Sarge watched, and nodded thoughtfully when Flash muttered "think the Baker could use a field agent?"

His story rolled ahead of him, growing as he went. He cleared a nest of Things in one village and took down another roc in a narrow pass, had a brief run in with bandits that he barely survived. He helped stock a woodpile for a hot meal and repaired a fence for another. There hadn't been a Giantkiller in the memory of anyone younger than his grandmother, and he listened to the old stories that were being dusted off. He hoped no one expected him to live up to all of them.

Bea heard him out, polite but not friendly, and he tried not to shuffle in his seat under her level gaze. She shrugged, eventually, and let him tag along as she smuggled a woman and her sister through the checkpoints in her cart. Kay tucked his sling out of sight and played a sullen teenager for all he was worth so that she could scold him loudly and the guards would shake their heads over the disruption instead of searching through the carefully stacked flour bags.

Someone wrote to her a week later saying they had a wyvern problem - people had long since started writing to the Baker for any help they needed and couldn’t afford from official sources, to see if she knew someone who could help. She sent Kay as a response, and he came back with a burn on his leg and pockets full of scales, scrubbed clean - but he came back. She grew to expect it, became used to keeping his room ready and leaving space at the table for him.

The first time he broke into the Graves' keep, he slipped out of the bakery after she'd gone to bed. They hadn't reached these ones in time, and he'd watched the way her shoulders fell and her lips thinned when he came back too soon, no rescues in his wake and no stories about how he'd helped them escape. He'd looked at her map, and thought but I'm still here.

The keep was easy to break into, because no one else was fool enough to try, and the Seeress was still working her way into her father's toolkit. He'd never held a lock pick but he knew how to remove hinges from a wall so he opened the doors that way, until one of the terrified mages shook off the stupor and started melting through them for him. They fled, and he scrawled the ward diagrams Flash had sent to Bea in the dirt for his rescues to copy with the sparks of power that were left to them. They had suspicions, Bea and the Rangers, dark thoughts about how their foe was finding prey so easily. They had wards that would cloud them from the sight of a seer, briefly, enough to break a trail, and they worked.

Kay led them to the bakery, where Bea fed them and sent them on, and when the house was empty again she wrapped her arms around Kay and hissed don't you dare do that again, don't you dare Kay, you don't disappear on me. He nodded and promised, but they both knew he meant he wouldn't slip away in the night. Kay was young, true, but he wasn't a fool. He could promise not to go without a word, but he couldn't promise he'd come back.

There was no Dragon Slayer, no Piper, a different Giantkiller - but it had never been just about those three friends. They were the ones whose legends were told, but theirs had never been the only hands buried in this war.

In a different village, there was a girl with the Elsewhere pulling gently on her bones. Kay took a warning, because if he and Bea had heard of her then so would the Graves’, and her sister narrowed her eyes at him as she went pale with fear. For all that he was the messenger not the threat, Kay took an instinctive half step back. "If anyone thinks they're taking my sister, they're going to get what's coming to them."

Rosie and Susie had friends, and those friends had already lost people to the machines, vanishing in the night and dropping out of contact. When Kay warned them, told them what he knew, they listened. They planned. When slavers came in the night, Elsewhere cracks tucked in their pockets, they thought this would be easy. The Seeress had seen an orphan girl with magic. If she had seen anything else, it had been shadowy faces with nothing to make them stand out. This is the peril of a Seer; you fall into the habit if thinking that if you don't see something it can't matter.

Slavers came in the night, and never left.

They started calling them Snow White and Rose Red, these sisters with deep roots in the mountain soil who grit their teeth and refused to run, refused to hide. Theirs was a mountain village, no Bureau-sanctioned guard and no walls to defend them, so they built their own. Bea smuggled out every person unwilling to become a civilian soldier, who wanted safety not defiance, and the rest built a fortress.

Kay helped, hands familiar with hammer and nails, the cost of freedom. He made friends, not just with the sisters but with Doc and his sons, the taciturn blacksmith and his two apprentices, the cheerful woman who ran the inn and the cynical one who presided over the fledgling community garden, with a few scattered kids his own age with fire in their veins and fear in their eyes.

(Or was it fear that ran in their blood, twitching at shadows and hearts pounding when they woke at night, and fire in their eyes, a stubborn, worn down fury?)

They named it Challenge, carved it deep over the main gate, a name and a purpose.

Their first siege had been a holding action in the mines, Doc and his sons collapsing tunnels and digging new ones until winter came on and forced the Graves' soldiers back to their own walls. The vigilantes stayed in the mines, huddled together for warmth and comfort, elated and terrified at their own victory. Rosie and Susie roamed the passages, after, speaking to everyone and inviting a selection to a council - Kay was invited too, and sat awkwardly listening to them lay plans for rebuilding, how to build sturdy walls the moment the snows cleared enough. Their second came days after they carved Challenge over the gate, while Kay was still getting all of the sawdust out of his hair.

He went back to the bakery afterward, to pour over maps with Bea and be sent out on missions. They couldn't save everyone. They couldn't save most people, but some was better than none. Kay stared at the ceiling through long, sleepless nights, trying to convince himself that it was okay that he couldn't work miracles. People knew him by sight, now, and some days he didn’t feel he should be looking over his shoulder whenever they called out Giantkiller!

It was a long, slow war, their quiet campaign against the Graves family. Bea’s network grew and grew, despite their heavy losses - mages who escaped and ones who didn’t, the non-magical casualties who weren’t quick enough with a lie or a dodge, or were simply unlucky. Susie and Rosie were a fierce pair, exchanging razor sharp letters with Bea to plan out strategies and contingencies.

(It wasn’t until after his third siege at Challenge that Kay would realise that Bea had never actually met either of the sisters; she had never met Marian, either, but they had never communicated directly so it was easier to recall. The sisters and the Baker sent word back and forth for years, but barely knew anything of each other outside of their shared plans besides what he could pass on - for all that Bea would like to see Challenge, there was bread to bake and travel could be dangerous. Better not to give the Seeress any reason to look again at this sleepy village that she and hers had already gutted for fuel.)

Kay was no natural physician, but he helped to wrap bandages in Doc Frederickson’s infirmary whenever he was in Challenge, between meetings and sentry duty. In the streets and villages people expected him to be a hero; in the infirmary, Doc just expected him to be useful. He cracked bad jokes as distraction, fetched water, and peered over a bewildered man’s shoulder at a neat formula that someone had stumbled through the gates clutching. She didn’t remember where she’d found it, but it had been tucked into the lining of her coat. There was a note on the front in her own handwriting, for all she didn’t recall writing it - My first rabbit was called Snowball, and this is real, not a joke.

Doc’s hand shook so badly that he had to put the unfolded note down before he dropped it. Kay clutched the edge of the desk hard enough to hurt, looking between the message and the woman sat on the edge of an infirmary cot, gold dripping sluggishly from her fingertips to pool on the fabric. It would stain, leaving smudged hand-prints on the sheets and faintly in the mattress below, but they would consider it a miracle not a nuisance. She was sitting, fingertips trembling but no worse this morning than they had been any day of her journey north. She had been dragged from the cells, away from the machines that should have killed her, and rather than dying grateful for a final view of the sky she had found herself weeks to the South, in a town she hadn’t known and a recipe in her pocket in handwriting she didn’t recognise.

It wasn’t a cure, but it was still something no-one had thought to hope for. It was a medicine, true, but it was also a message: somebody, somewhere, was trying to save their mages too. They weren’t the only ones resisting this blight.

This, too: after that first midnight venture of Kay’s they had never been able to rescue anyone from the Graves’ keep. They had fought to prevent people being taken, rescued people from mage warded wagons, hissed warnings to make people hide or flee. They had built a town, walls and watchtowers, a beacon of resistance. But they had never managed to make their way into the keep itself undetected a second time, for all the desperate families who had tried, for all the curses the Seeress and the Mayor hissed when they found the doors open and cells empty. Kay and Bea would exchange long looks over the bakery table, and wonder who on the inside was setting people free and laying the blame at their convenient feet.

(In a lab none of them had never seen, Jillit Chu was saving life after life of people who she knew would never remember her name, secrets written in invisible letters on her skin when she went home at night. Thorne was pouring over reports, Jill’s own records, Jeremiah’s much less successful and yet officially far more vital analyses, the dispatches from his spies in the mountains. He wanted the Graves family dealt with, of course - but he wanted their secrets, too. Thorne was a Bureau man, and while Mayor Graves was always careful not to upset the Bureau, he was no more affiliated with them than the vigilantes that plagued his operations. It had never been the means of production that Thorne objected to, or the Graves’ would have been out of a business years before.

Spider didn’t know this; Andrew Molina had given years of his life to bring the machines down, weaving a web to tear it all down. He was trying to find a gap in his plans to let Sandry slip through; he knew where Sam had gone even if she didn’t, thought if he could get her out too then there would be a life for her away from the wreckage of her father’s dreams. If he had to, he knew he would let her fall with it and take the regrets, but he was an excellent Bureau agent - he liked his odds for achieving both. He wasn’t reaching out to Sam just yet - they were working to weaken the system, but it was slow work. The Baker and her resistance were an irritation, but they weren’t yet causing enough of a disruption to have materially disrupted production, to have strained the system, to be convincing the less dedicated that this was a fight they were going to lose.

Thorne had other agents, he knew, and they heard things the Spider didn’t. Reports that when put together said that this was going to be the work of more cold years - he measured them in people lost, and tried when those the Seeress saw were children to make sure he was spotted on the road, that whispers spread before him, warnings. He couldn’t let everyone slip away, not if he wanted to bring it all down, but he tried to save as many as he could - he felt every mage who burned for other people’s light as a weight on his shoulders. He kept walking, the Seeress’ right hand man, and did not stumble under that burden.)

Robin Hood died on an otherwise unremarkable winter’s day, stumbling back to the treeline with them, held up as much as their rescues. Marian’s hands didn’t shake as she lit the pyre, and Kay wondered if she would stay that cold for the rest of her life. She left with a handful of the Merry Men, the ones who’d been thinking of warmer pastures or those like her couldn’t stand to be beneath the trees without Robin. Kay wasn’t sure if she was angry at him or the world - Marian wasn’t, either. She had fought sieges at his side, before he begged Robin’s help for the last time; she knew his history, this mountain born boy who became a legend. She wouldn’t write to him or the Baker, but Little John would drop mentions into his occasional messages, and some days she was glad for the news.

When Kay had first stumbled into the Woods, an injured mage leaning on his shoulder and pursuit on his heels, it had been Marian who coolly shot down the armed guard and guided them beneath the trees. She had helped bandage up his rescue, and Robin had dropped down next to him at the fire. Kay wasn’t sure he had ever felt as safe as he did that night, curled up beneath the towering trees with their cheerful assurances that he didn’t need to worry about any armed followers tracking him here, dozing off in a borrowed bed roll on the hard ground. The Merry Men weren’t all kind to outsiders, but they loved Robin and respected Marian - if they were told he was a friend, he was a friend. Kay watched the smoke rise, the snow melting around them, and wondered if Robin would still be alive, if Kay hadn’t thought of him as a friend.

The remaining Merry Men stayed out of the fight, after that, nursing wounds physical and metaphorical, but Little John made it clear that the paths through the trees were still open to Kay and his rescues. More than one trembling mage and their shaken family were escorted safely south by the Merry Men after a night or two beneath the trees.

It was a long war, and Kay measured it first in months rather than days, then years rather than months; the Seeress was spreading her gaze further afield as the mountain villages became wary, as anyone with sparks at their fingertips fled before they needed warning. Kay gained scars from vicious brawls with guards, with the long limbed Spider, a bullet wound in the shoulder that would ache in the cold for the rest of his life from Spider’s deputy.

Kay was by no means the only person fighting this war, but he had become one of the lynchpins, the one who most often acted directly against the Graves’ network - his was the face the Seeress saw most in the wake of plans dissolving like smoke. She had a bespoke curse tucked in a pocket, and one vindictive day she set it loose. Bea watched the Giantkiller turn pale, shaky on feet that a moment before had been steady, and crumple. She caught him before he could hit the ground, and carried him gently to his room. She sent out frantic messages through her network, looking for healers, looking for anyone who could help. After three nights of fever, Little John crept into the bakery, cradling a pouch in his large, gentle hands. He was no trained healer, but he knew old stories, knew how to walk into the shadowed trees on a full moon night and ask for help for the deserving. He did not know what he had done, to mix this medicine, but when the sun had risen it had been in his hands.

Kay spent another three nights tossing and turning, but he woke with the sun on the seventh day. It would take weeks until he felt fully rested, and Little John warned him that full moons would make him restless for the rest of his days. He spent his time sorting Bea’s correspondence and helping her in the bakery, until she declared him fit for field work again. Even then they were wary, cautious. They had no doubts who had sent a curse to strike him down, for all they sneered at the hypocrisy - they watched for any sign that the Seeress had known where to strike, but found nothing amiss.

One morning, Kay woke to the sound of shattering crockery in the bakery below; he was wary, fresh bruises on his knuckles and sleeping light, recently home and still listening for ambushes. He crept downstairs, and found Bea pinned to the wall of her own kitchen with strings of golden fire, the butter dish broken on the floor. The slingstone he pitched through the door landed, but its target had moved in time and took a glancing bruise to the arm rather than a blow to the head. She held up calloused palms, but he could see the gun at her hip and the gold holding Bea in place: he wasn’t fool enough to think that she was anything other than ready to take him down if he moved. She smiled, a precise and practiced thing. “Hello. Apologies for breaking in, but I needed to speak to the Baker and the Giantkiller, and I believe this is the right address?” Her smile turned feral, a fierce grin that looked more at home on her lips. “I’m an agent from the Bureau quiet branch, and I thought you might want to know we’re planning to bring the Graves’ down in a few weeks’ time.”

Bea made a scoffing sound, the gold fire glittering off her eyes, and the woman flicked her fingers to twist the fire into nothing again. Kay itched to go to Bea, check that she was alright, but he knew better. There were two of them and one armed intruder - better to keep her looking in two directions, for all that she seemed to think she was on their side, for all that he had no doubt which of them would win, if it came to a fight. Kay had years of experience, true, but you didn’t make it to being a field agent with the quiet branch without a fearsome skillset to your name.

She eyed their distrust with amused, approving resignation, and patiently laid out the bones of the web she and Spider had been steadily weaving, the tipping point that was coming. Kay frowned at the hints, puzzling out tactics, and Bea traced her fingertips over her map - the markers of lives saved, the ones of lives lost. There was an empty room upstairs she still couldn’t bear to use, years later. Kay did not and would never know that sometimes when Bea woke from nightmares these days they had been about waking to find the house cold and the curtains in his cosy room billowing in the night air, for all that he was no more a mage that she was. She eyed their guest with as much professional disregard as the woman had shown her, breaking into a house warded over the years by careful, grateful hands as though it was nothing.

“And why now? Why are you and yours only tearing down the Graves’ now? We know who you are, Agent, and for all I’ve heard of you you’re in the Graves’ pocket, the Spider’s precious protege.” She curled a lip, a mountain woman from a village that couldn’t afford walls, that had begged and begged for Bureau protection and been told to come back with gold in their pockets. “Why have the Bureau decided that now they can deign to get involved? Why are you here, breaking into my home, to tell me you’ve finally decided to care enough to stop it?”

"They killed my brother," snapped Laney, an old, bitter hurt - and the Baker looked back at her coldly, as though that didn't explain anything at all.

"They've killed a lot of people." The sharpshooter stiffened, hand twitching as though she might have gone for a gun if she hadn’t needed them alive. Bea didn't flinch from the movement, expression hard and unforgiving. "How many have you helped them kill? I could tell you, I think, because I hear almost everyone's story about the ones they lost, sooner or later. Do you know what we call you, when we whisper warnings? What legend did you think you were building, in your brother's memory?"

The Ballad of Agent Jones

Laney Jones had stumbled at her brother’s beloved heels for years, until he left the desert in search of new horizons. Years later, she had followed in his footsteps once again, Academy papers in her pocket and a handful of hard-won fire clutched close to keep her warm on the journey. She was planning to find her big brother, one day. She was going to show him what she could do, what she had made of herself, and she was going to see the pride in his eyes once again. It was a warm thought, one she had clung to through cold nights of hidden practice and long days of doubting her worth.

In her second year at the Academy, armed men broke into the fish shop where her study group were having their first meeting. When Thorne took her aside in the days after, to have a private chat with such a promising young woman, he glanced over her skin tone and the name in his file, and paused. He asked, carefully, if she had any connection to a Liam Jones, another powerful mage he had heard of. Laney beamed with familial pride, and a certain quiet joy that she had been put on the same level as Liam. "My brother, sir. He whistles up his magic, though I never had the knack for it."

Thorne called her in again a week later, for another chat, but his face was serious and even the glint of his glasses seemed subdued. There was a thin file on his desk, L. Jones scrawled on the outside. Laney's heart froze, because she knew there was no reason for the Bureau to have files on her, not yet.

"I am sorry, miss Jones, but Liam Jones died almost seven years ago, in the mountains." He pushed the file towards her, sympathy but not pity in his voice. "There are people there who - deal in mages. It seems that there was no one to warn him to hide." He pressed a clean handkerchief into her hand and went to fetch water for the kettle. He could have called for someone to bring them tea, but Thorne understood that people sometimes needed a moment alone with their grief.

The contents of the file had been heavily redacted, because the work of the Bureau quiet branch investigating the trade in mages was an ongoing thing, and a sister's grief didn't give you rights to all of the carefully gathered details. But there were a few stark lines that were intact - a description, a date of capture. A short summary of a doomed escape attempt that made her smile with fierce, pained pride. A date of death.

What had she been doing, that day? Where had she been, when her brother's song vanished from the world?

Thorne made her tea and made no comment on her damp eyelashes, told her she could speak to him at any time if she felt she needed someone who was aware of the situation to listen. He asked for her family's contact details, so that he could write to tell them the terrible news personally. He straightened the papers on his desk and promised to tell her when he sent it, in case she wanted to write as well, but he said that it shouldn't be her job to break it to them unless she wanted it to be.

Laney signed the quiet branch's letter of employment before the week was up.

She would never run the backstreets of Rivertown with Rupert; he would perhaps have trusted Sez, Bart and their secret, steady work to fellow Academy students, if a bit warily, but not to someone with Thorne looking over her shoulder from the beginning. Laney spent her spare hours at the Academy in the library or out on the firing range, and felt trapped, burning in her own skin.

When the battle of Driftwood Island came, when she realised that the monsters of fire were slipping in from the Elsewhere, it was Thorne she went to, to say she could help; she stitched the rift closed while the Rangers held their own in the wreckage above. She didn’t tell Thorne how she’d done it, exactly, but she agreed that they shouldn’t tell anyone it had been her - no point in making her a target, after all.

(Laney wouldn’t remember any of this for years; until then, so far as she could recall she’d spent the whole battle helping to shield sections of lower Rivertown from fire damage. If there was a gap in her recollection - well, it was so easy to lose track in your first real battle, for everything to blur together. The Rangers couldn’t recall exactly who had stitched the rift up while they bought time, and it nagged at them for years, too)

On her first day at the Bureau’s quiet branch as a junior agent, Laney made her way to Thorne's office, shoulders carefully square and chin held level, and asked him what she would need to do to become part of the group working on the mage slave trade case.

Thorne had known her brother's name, his description; not just the dates of his disappearance but those of his escape attempt and death, the clinical numbers documenting how much power had been wrested from his bones. Laney had known, even in the midst of grief - these were not things you could learn without someone on the inside. These were not things you knew, the shadowy quiet branch of the governing powers, unless you had plans to do something with the information.

Laney had her own plans; she had always intended to use the Bureau just as much as Thorne had planned to use her.

When the Seeress saw her, Spider’s newest potential recruit, she smiled slightly in recognition, sinister and small. She asked Laney why she was applying to a role with the Graves' network. Laney had looked her dead in the eye, shoulders relaxed and everything gold around her shining true.

"My brother was a mage, a powerful one. I grew tired a long time ago of being a shadow because I don't have gold dripping from my fingers."

Neither Kay or Bea trusted the Agent and her casually mentioned ally - Spider had been a nightmare in the mountains for longer than Kay had known of this fight, and had never slipped into the Baker’s net to whisper secrets to her deputy. In another life, the Baker’s right hand had been a girl who saw nothing but blood and ash on her palms, who had once let a whole village die, unseen, because she wanted to live; in another life, the Spider had been confident that the Dragon Slayer would understand the price he was paying. He would have offered himself as an informant, trusting in her pragmatism to take his information and keep the source to herself. In another life, Bea had years of listening to George talk haltingly about the place she had once called home, the dragon they had given her a legend for, and would have listened to her, taken the information even if reluctantly.

But the Giantkiller had no such weight on his shoulders, and Spider had spent too long working himself into the Graves’ good graces to risk his position on that kind of gamble.

They didn’t trust Agent Jones or the Spider, let alone the Bureau man with twinkling glasses who slipped into Challenge with a promise of information and a cheerful litany of all of Kay’s illegal activities, but they couldn’t afford not to take their warnings. Challenge prepared for another siege, hunkering down to withstand whatever the Graves’ threw at them, and Kay decided when the Rangers arrived to support the defenders that his life was worth the gamble and followed two shadowy spies into the Keep, a decoy captive.

He’d been here just once before; after that, the Mayor had finally listened to Sandry’s murmurings about weak points in their security, and no-one had broken into the keep since. Spider let them in through a side door, and Kay shuddered as it clicked closed behind him. They burned the machines, Agent Jones lighting the mage blasts, but the engineer wasn’t there, the careful blueprints and plans stored somewhere other than this cold office. Kay turned a corner and ran into the Seeress, the first time he had seen her face to face. They stared at one another, frozen; she was frantically figuring out how the Giantkiller had made it into the keep unnoticed - and he had no idea who he just run into, unsure if he should tell her who he was and hesitating to use force on someone he thought might be an innocent.

Spider stepped up behind him, and the Seeress’ cold mask slipped, fractured as she looked between them, Sandry feeling her steady ground shift beneath her feet. Spider’s hand settled warningly over Kay’s shoulder, yanking him back and cuffing him to a stair-rail to keep the boy in place as the recognition dawned, while he frantically whispered at Sandry - telling her to leave, to slip out of the side door and hide, that she could join her brother and start over. The Seeress snapped out sharp retorts, demanding to know what exactly the Bureau knew of her baby brother, and Kay felt an abrupt, unwelcome fellow feeling - he knew what it was, to fear the extent of the Bureau’s files, to want the names of you and yours kept secret. The Seeress was trembling, torn between drawing herself up and in, hurt and terrified of showing it, and wanting to trust, for just a little longer, that the Spider was on her side.

Mayor Graves turned the corner, calling for the Seeress, his useful little monster, because someone had been in his office, burned his papers to ash. He was clutching a weapon that pulsed gold (in the cells below, there was a trembling body, the magic in their blood ripped free and pushed into a new vessel), concerned but not frantic. He spied Kay, and his face broke into a smirk. Spider stood with a relaxed stance, hand on his holstered gun, face a mask while he weighed options. The Seeress straightened her spine. Her father had told her all her life that mages were selfish, hoarding power, that their work was a sad necessity for the wellbeing of the many. He was holding a gun that took that power and put it in his own two hands - Sandry had made Spider teach her to shoot years ago, on the quiet, because she wanted something she could do, to defend herself and her brother, something to hold onto that would give her power that didn’t rely on words. She knew that this was a power he had made for himself to cling to.

The Giantkiller was a child, still, and almost as young as her brother had been when she pressed a bag into his hands and told him to flee. Her father was pointing a gun at a boy barely older than his son, and everything in him was twisting gleeful with it. She murmured, dispassionate, that the boy might have useful information. That Spider should take him downstairs for questioning, to find out about the gaps in their defences - a security breach such as this must be investigated carefully, for all their sakes. Spider could dispose of the pest, after. Mayor Graves had never been in the habit of listening to his daughter, and she wanted to scream it at him as he dismissed her again without even a word.

The Mayor took an experimental shot at the Giantkiller, burning the ground by Kay’s left leg to cinders, and crumpled to the ground. Agent Jones slipped out of the shadows behind him, ash dusting her fingertips, pistol held steady and familiar in her hand. She glanced down at the body, cold, and wondered if she would regret never getting to tell him exactly why she’d taken aim, a sniper’s precise shot under cover of his own.

Spider stepped casually in front of Sandry, and with a glare Agent Jones holstered her gun before striding briskly by both her mentor and the Seeress to release the bindings holding Kay in place.

“C’mon, Giantkiller. Let’s get you back to your friends at Challenge, and the boss in here to sort out everything else.” She slid her eyes sideways towards Spider. “I’ll be sure to tell him that you have the Seeress in your custody, sir.” Spider gave a resigned sigh, but made no other objection. Kay felt he ought to protest, to argue against leaving the Seeress unchained, to snap that it should have been him who took down the Mayor, but this had never been just his fight, for all his was the name the Seeress had hissed in the wake of foiled plans. He let himself be guided out, Agent Jones brisk and efficient, a polite smile pasted on her face.

Thorne was waiting for them outside, cheerfully confident in his Agents and the Giantkiller. He told Kay that Challenge had withstood the final siege, but couldn’t tell him the cost. Kay, seething, bit his tongue at the man’s oily reminders that in the quiet branch’s service, any messy rumours about illegal activities would be swept under the rug. The Giantkiller jerked his head back at the keep. “The mayor is dead, but the Seeress is still alive in there.” Thorne pursed his lips, nodding. “Good, good. The mayor had to be removed, though alive would have been…preferable. Young Cassandra can take over, however, to maintain consistency - with supervision, of course, before you say anything.” Kay scowled. “She fed mages into his machines for years.” Thorne smiled at him, condescendingly, shaking his head like a kindly grandfather.

“We cannot simply remove every political figure we disagree with. She is young. She will be managed. You should be making your way to Challenge, however. I’m sure your friends will want to hear the good news.” Agent Jones watched the boy stalk away, carefully keeping her face neutral. She was an old hat at manipulating people, after years of practice - she could see that Thorne was trying to collect another recruit. She could also see that he was going about it in entirely the wrong fashion, but she didn’t think it was worth pointing that out.

Thorne glanced at her sideways. “The mayor is dead, Agent Jones?” “Yes sir. An unfortunate necessity to avoid further loss of life.” He heaved a sigh, but didn’t question it. “Very well then. Let us go and debrief Spider, and explain the new order of things to Miss Graves.”

Even with the Mayor gone, the keep was still hostile territory; Agent Jones was on high alert, so when she heard a door click softly closed as they walked through the entry way she waved Mr Thorne on ahead of her, waiting until Dadlus thought it was safe to emerge again. She tackled him to the ground, and had him cuffed and cursing by the time Thorne, Spider and the Seeress made their way back down the stairs. Thorne’s face turned gleeful when he saw her captive. He rubbed his hands together. “Excellent! Good work, Agent Jones.” The Seeress’ head snapped toward him, eyes widening fractionally in surprise before he spoke. “I have a Bureau engineer who desperately needs to pick your brains, particularly as it seems the Giantkiller was able to burn all of the blueprints. You're going to be very valuable to us.”

Spider was staring between Thorne and Dadlus, ice slipping down his spine as he put the pieces together, discovered the game Thorne had been playing all along. He had spent years working in this keep, shoulders weighed down by so many lives he had been unable to save, who he had sacrificed to ensure he could bring it all to an end. He took three long steps forward and slid the knife he always carried up his sleeve between the engineer's ribs. "I didn't let children die for years so the Bureau could turn around and do the same thing all over again." Dadlus slumped to the ground, blood pooling under him. Thorne went for his gun, but Agent Jones was quicker - in a different life, it would have been dragon’s fire that killed Gerald Thorne, but in this one it was handfuls of Elsewhere fire that Laney had been carrying around her wrists for years, hidden even from the Seeress.

Cassandra stared at them both over the cooling body, shaken - she had always seen everything, every secret and every weakness, and here she found both: her lieutenants had been hiding secrets upon secrets, tucked carefully away where she hadn’t found them, and so she was weak where she’d thought her back was guarded. She wondered if it would be a bullet or a blaze that came for her, whether Spider would help or if he would pull her out of the way.

Agent Jones didn’t glance her way: she and Spider were eying each other, weighing up their priorities and potentials. Spider wanted Sandry to go free - she had barely been an adult when he arrived at the keep, for all that it had taken him weeks to discover she wasn’t cold years older. He had realised within those first months of working his way into her network just how young she must have been, when the Mayor told her she was a monster and turned her into a tool.

Laney had always wanted revenge for her brother, justice for the other victims. She had burned the machines with glee and felt no guilt for shooting the Mayor down. She felt no guilt for burning Throne, either - she wanted the machines gone as much as Spider. But she knew who it was who had found her brother, who had sent armed thugs with Elsewhere cracks in their pockets after Liam. She had told herself she would feel no guilt for shooting the Seeress, either, even when she saw the date of birth in the briefing files.

But Laney had spent a year now with Sandry and the Spider; she remembered the squeaky sage in her second year study group, the one she still sometimes met in the University library to chatter over Elsewhere theory. She had heard Sandry talk about Sam, but she had heard Grey talk about Sandry, too. She thought she talked about Liam the same way, sometimes.

“Thorne said we would leave you in charge,” she spoke softly, as though the words were of no importance. “So we will. But you do not re-start operations, and Spider and I will make sure of it.” Agent Jones holstered her gun, turned to the Seeress, and raised an eyebrow. “But the people around here will freeze in winter, without help. Your people, now. So, I’ve a challenge for you - I know you’ve studied how the machines work, how to make them more efficiently. But have you ever tried to figure out how you can wrest this power from thin air and turn it into something useful?”

Laney Jones pressed her hand up to the skin of the world and broke it; in the glow of the Elsewhere she was radiant, and Cassandra would have shielded her eyes if she’d been able to bear looking away. All her life, she had been told that what they did was the only way, only fair.

She stared, eyes stinging, and thought I have never seen a mage burn so bright.

Kay spent the weeks after at Challenge helping to shore up the damage; Bea left the bakery to help, bandaging the wounded and scolding him for taking foolish risks. They knelt side by side in the community garden, repairing damaged trellises and trying to see which of the fragile growths could be coaxed back into health and which needed to be turned to compost. One water break, surveying the rows they’d managed to restore, he idly turned a stone over and said, “What are we going to do now? What’s next?” She didn’t pretend he was talking about the garden, though she didn’t reply until they were carting the next load of dug up plants to the compost heap.

“I don’t know. It’s been so long since I didn’t have -” And he put his arms around her and let her cry into his shoulder; Bea had turned herself to stone in so many ways, over the years, since she woke to a cold house and an empty bedroom, and now her war was won. There would be pieces to pick up, rebuilding that would take years. The Seeress was still in the keep, and for all that Agent Jones assured them she wasn’t going to be a problem it still sat bitter under both their tongues. It would take months for the mountain villagers to feel safe, for a child with sparks flicking between fingertips to inspire joy not terror. It would take years, a lifetime - several lifetimes. There was work for Bea to bury herself in still, but for now there was sun on her shoulders and there would be no mages lost in the night. For now, she could realise they were safe, as safe as you could ever be, and weep for all those who hadn’t been.

Later, shoulder to shoulder in the crowded inn, Kay would rest his head on her shoulder, quiet.

“I think I should go back to the farm, for a bit. See my dad, yeah? Make sure he knows I’m okay.” He nudged her with an elbow, gentle. “I’ll come back, though. But I promised I wouldn’t leave without telling you, so I am. I’m going to head back to the farm and get shouted at, so you aren’t even going to be the only one nagging me about taking risks, then I’m gong to come back to the bakery and chop wood for you.” She laughed softly.

“That’s your life plan?” He grinned, and it was a younger face that looked back at her than she’d seen for years. He was still a child, really, for all that he was growing tall and gangly. He shrugged. "For now. I’d like to go a few weeks with no-one trying to kill me, it’d make a nice change. Later - well. Maybe I’ll go get myself a Badge, I'm almost old enough. Sarge told me plenty of times he reckons I could do it, and I’ve daydreamed about it for years, you know? Be a proper Hero, join the Rangers as an intern. Agent Jones told me Thorne is dead - I didn't ask for details, I thought she might shoot me - and that I didn't need to worry about my name being in any paperwork with the Giantkiller, so long as I say Thorne was tragically killed in the fight with the Mayor. I could do it, if I wanted.” They sat in silence for a while longer, watching the crowd. After a while, Bea ruffled his hair gently. “Maybe you should go to the Academy, get yourself a career lined up. But if you’ll take an old baker’s suggestion - I think you’d make a better Guide, all things considered. You've had enough practice at being a hero.”

In the morning, before he set out for the old farm he hadn’t been back to in years, Kay climbed up the flights of stairs to the uppermost platform of the wall that surrounded Challenge. The wooden posts were riddled with marks, from flung weapons and the sooty streaks left by stolen mage fire, idle carved graffiti left by bored sentries - names and old in jokes, defiant records left when they knew they were all inviting battle to their doorstep. He stood looking out at the surrounding peaks as the sun rose, thinking about the Leauges and Bureau policy, about a roc digging claws into his shoulder and long summer sieges, the machines burning and Mayor Graves crumpling lifeless to his plush carpet, and dug out his pocket knife.

We were here.

#my writing #Jack is a Beanstalk #Beanstalk #Echoes of a Giantkiller #Remember the Dust #this one went way more off canon than usual #I was planning to spend more time with more of the background characters #Sorry Susie and Rosie I'll have to give you more screentime another time #because Kay kind of...took over #L&L fic #the mountain vigilantes never become the mountain vigilantes #other people still step up to the fight #Leagues and legends

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makarov-my-beloved · 3 years ago

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Watch Dogs: Legion x AmRev

@burgoyned Chapter 4 out! Feedback if you wish ^^

Chapter 4: One Of Us, Many Of You!

Burgoyne browsed through the mask shop in the Safehouse, per requested by Bagley. “Welcome to DedSec, Johnny! Now, how about you make yourself a team player and purchase a mask?” There is so much to choose from. Browsing through various choices of masks gave the playwriter a migraine. I don’t know which is good. He finally settled on a mask that is a modern “knight” helmet with a holographic golden “Lōng” teeth glowing. The entire front was a black visor encased by gold lining. “Knight of Avalon” the description read. Fancy, fancy! Burgoyne scanned 200 ETO and the mask was instantly dropped from the machine. He picked it up and placed it over his head. The visor obscured 90% of his vision, but he can still make out the room. This is pretty neat! Hearing the front door opened, Burgoyne removed his helmet and saw both André and Clinton arrive, dropping their gear on the table.

Bagley spoke up. “Welcome back Operators! Are you ready for your next mission?” “NOW HOLD ON!” Burgoyne quickly rushed downstairs to greet his friends. He spun Clinton around and began shaking his hand. “It is an honor to meet you, sir. What brings you here on this fine day?” Clinton gave him a fake glare. “Do you know how to address your superiors?” “I don’t need to. You are NOT my superior and I don’t HAVE to address you as anything,” smirked Burgoyne. A smirk also crept across Clinton’s face. “Pleasure seeing you here, Burgoyne.” “Indeed. Such a friendly reunion that I forgot to add you don’t have permission to be accessing DedSec technology until you are fully recruited,” the playwriter taunted, showing off his new mask. “I don’t believe in holding an initiation ceremony unless you want a repeat of what happened before,” chided Bagley sarcastically. “Hey, hey, that was once a lifetime thing,” Burgoyne retorted.

“Regardless, André has already informed me that Clinton was able to access all of Clan Kelley’s information regarding the human organ harvesting as well as an auction. Some of them are victims of the bombings. This one piece of information is vital, however, there is more,” Bagley said, pulling up the data. The three men read through Kelley’s documents, each growing more disgusted with the paper detailing everything. “That bitch. Always kissing up to some higher up,” growled André. “Those poor victims. How are we going to find them? We need to rescue them from those bloody bastards!” Clinton added. “Perhaps. I can’t quite pinpoint where Clan Kelley is operating right now, but I do know we need to find more information about those victims starting from one of the bomb sites.”

“How would that give us any information?” André asked curiously. “Perhaps the bombs were set off internally. It’s best if you try recovering a clue first then we can proceed with the next step,” Bagley said, opening up a map of London and marked one of the bomb sites. It was located in the City of London. “You’ll need to sneak in with caution. Albion secured the location to make sure no one gets in.” André pouts his face. “This will be rough.” “Quite certainly. Although there is a way of tackling this,” Bagley said. The Operators looked at him with a confused expression. He continued. “I propose one of you stay behind and monitor the site through the cameras. The rest of you travel to the site and recover the evidence.” “I’ll stay. I know the ins and outs of every part of the location,” André said, sitting down in front of the computer.

Clinton and Burgoyne looked at each other. “I guess that’ll be us. Alrighty, let’s head out,” Clinton said as he headed for the entrance upstairs. “Now hang on a second, have you picked out a mask yet? You can’t be going out somewhere with your face exposed,” Bagley stated matter of factly. The Operator raised his gasmask. “Already have one,” he chirped. “Oh well, fantastic then. Looks better than the others ones I’ve seen.” “HEY!” André and Burgoyne protested together. “Alright, alright. Now time is running short. Do hurry.” Burgoyne and Clinton climbed up the staircase and left the Safehouse. André began accessing connections to the bomb site. “I’ve never imagined it to be this horrendous,” he said, scanning the whole site through different camera angles. “You can’t imagine being this horrendous? I wonder if it is any worse than the plays you write.” “Those ideas are scraped, my dear Bagley,” retorted André. The AI chuckled, remaining silent for the remainder of the mission.

Clinton’s eye widened when the men approached their destination. Half of the stadium was blown to smithereens. A construction fence was set up all around where the incident took place, some heavily constructed by Albion to prevent outsiders from looking in. A memorial to those who lost their lives was placed at the front entrance, covered with flowers and candles. Burgoyne let out a sob. “This is heartbreaking. I feel for the victims of this tragedy.” “You weep for the civilians while Clan Kelley and the others laugh at our misfortune,” Clinton softly replied. As they approached the heavily barricaded walls, a small ctOS drone can be heard buzzing above them. Burgoyne quickly put his helmet on as Clinton strapped his gas mask on. Both men quickly slipped behind a small barricade and watched the small drone look around before entering the site.

“That’s odd. That drone would usually chase outsiders out. I wonder who is controlling that?” Burgoyne wondered. He felt a tug from Clinton who motioned towards a small opening. Nodding, the two men crawled through the hole and found themselves standing in front of a large crater where the explosion took place. Debris covered every part of the broken stadium; chunks of metal, concrete, as well as aluminum, splayed across the ground. The interior of the stadium was exposed, so the men can see Albion guards patrolling the inside of the building. ctOS drones flew everywhere amid large cargo drones occasionally flying in and out to drop off necessary materials. Burgoyne stared in disbelief at the amount of damaged caused. Adjusting his mask, Clinton began quietly prodding his way towards the epicenter. A few guards walked by, but one of them spotted the men. “HEY, YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!” he yelled, raising his gun. “OH SHIT! RUN” Burgoyne pushed Clinton and the two began the run.

The site became alerted and all Albion guards began pursuing the intruders. Spotting a small opening, Clinton grabbed Burgoyne by the arm and they slipped into the crater. They hid behind a massive concrete building, away from their pursuers. The ctOS drone that they saw earlier slipped into the crack and hovered next to Burgoyne. He tapped the little drone. “You could’ve helped us drive those bastards away, you know.” “I don’t think that’s André. He doesn’t know how to operate a drone yet,” Clinton whispered. “Wait, if this isn’t André then…” Sweat began to break out as Burgoyne nervously checks the drone. Whizzing past the men, the ctOS drone began scanning the nearby area. It shone its light on a small object lying on the floor. A small sigh escaped Burgoyne but with his helmet is made it sound suffocating. Clinton emerged from his spot and approached the object. From the drone’s flight, he can tell it was part of a Spiderbot.

Bagley pinged the earpiece. “That’s it. You’ve recovered the first clue. It looks like a Spiderbot. I’m sending out an AR replicant so we can have a detailed visual of what exactly happened here.” “Great. But just a question, is André piloting this drone? There is a drone that has been following us around and I wonder if it’s André.” André spoke up. “No sir, it’s not me!” Clinton froze. Bagley took over again. “You’ll need to proceed with caution. I’ll track the user of this drone for the time being. For now, take a look at this AR video and tell me what you think.”

As Bagley pinged off, a holographic display began to play. It showed three people walking down the tunnel as one of them carried a suitcase. Hiding within the small vent above Clinton was a Spiderbot. Both Clinton and Burgoyne observed the holographic Spiderbot proceed down the vent, entered a room adjacent to the main tunnel and the AR stopped. Bagley pinged again. “So it appears that one of the people has access to the explosion that attached itself to the Spiderbot. You’ll need to bring the bot back to have more data processed.”

“And this drone?” “I’ve traced it back to a user not far from the site.” “Great. We’ll head out there now. Much appreciated.” Tapping his earpiece, Clinton turned to Burgoyne who was still hiding behind the concrete. “We got what we came for let’s head out.” Picking up the bot, Clinton put it inside his bag then dragged the somewhat frightened playwriter out of hiding. The ctOS drone followed them, buzzing softly in the sky. Making their way back to the entrance, Clinton and Burgoyne ran until they’re out of range of suspecting Albion guards. Removing his gas mask, the hacker looked around. Burgoyne, upon removing his helmet, began combing his brown hair which was sticking up from the static of the helmet. “Damn, that was a close one. I guess we now know what happened?” “Yes. This Spiderbot might still hold some key data on how the bomb was processed. We’ll need to head back now.” The ctOS drone buzzed towards a man approaching them. He was wearing a hacker-esque jacket with black leather pants covered with binary code and grey low-cut boots. The man took off his hood, revealing a surprising face that both Clinton and Burgoyne stopped then burst out laughing.

“Ara-ara, if it isn’t SIR William Howe,” snickered Burgoyne as punched his friend on the arm. “What are you doing here on this fine evening hmm?” questioned Clinton in a mocking manner. Howe rolled his eyes. “Same as you. Trying to find information about what has happened here.” “Ah, I see. Did André recruit you to help or you’re just on your own?” Burgoyne inquired. “André? I’m on my own. The two of you are with DedSec I presume?” Howe said, pointing towards the DedSec fox logo on the men’s jacket. “Yes we are,” Clinton said. Their friend narrowed his eyes a tad bit and Clinton could tell this wasn’t going to be good. “Siding with a terrorist organization? I’d rather leave this country than to join a terrorist organi-“ Clinton cut him off. “How about you follow us and we’ll show you what DedSec is.”

Howe bit his lip before shrugging his shoulders. “Alright.” And followed the men back to the Safehouse.

After arriving at the Earl’s Fortune, Clinton dragged Burgoyne and Howe into the Safehouse where they saw André sitting on the couch looking at the London Tube system while discussing transportation with Bagley. Bagley closed the map and said, “Oh hello there Operators. I see we have a recruit. Is he a playwriter? How sexual is his mind?” “No and my brain is NOT sexual”, Sir William retorted at the AI. Burgoyne and Clinton looked at each other before bursting out laughing. “Oh haha, very funny. VERY funny,” the drone flyer rolled his eyes. André hid his face behind his hands to hide his snicker but was nevertheless happy to have another close friend recruited into DedSec. Recruitment Complete.

#watch dogs legion x amrev

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mystical-flute · 4 years ago

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Home is Wherever I'm With You (ch. 6)

FFN || AO3 || Ko-Fi

“Last chance to back out, bud,” Neal said, glancing over at Henry as he stood near the door of their hotel room. “You’re sure you’re okay with us moving here?”

Henry nodded, grinning. “Positive, Dad! It’ll be a new adventure, like you and Mom always talked about.”

Emma couldn’t help but grin slightly, even if there was a knot in her stomach that threatened to make her scream that they were going back to Boston and to forget this little town. It would have been an adjustment to not having Audrey and Snoopy around, but they could have made it work - right?

But Emma didn’t say anything, only giving Neal a quick peck on the lips. “Be careful, don’t rush yourself getting everything packed.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve already emailed a few friends to help me out,” Neal said, squeezing her hand before ruffling Henry’s hair. “Good luck, listen to your mom, and don’t start complaining about your teacher before you’ve given them a chance, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t,” Henry said with a roll of his eyes.

“I mean it, moving is a big deal. We don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”

“Especially in a small town like this,” Emma grumbled, before sighing. “C’mon kid. You’re lucky the superintendent was willing to meet with us on a Sunday.”

She gave Neal another quick kiss before heading out with Henry.

The school complex seemed enormous, although Emma supposed that’s what happened in these small towns - they didn’t have to travel miles from school to school because there weren’t a ton of shops and houses in the way.

She was surprised to see a woman standing at the top step, waiting for them.

“Good morning! You must be Mrs. Cassidy,” she said with a wide smile. “And this must be Henry.”

“Ms. Jackson, right?” Emma said as Henry gave a nervous wave. “Thank you for meeting with us on a Sunday.”

“Please, call me Olivia. And it’s no trouble. It’s not often we get new students enrolled here, so this is really exciting for us!” Olivia opened the door, guiding them inside. “Come right on in and we’ll get you set up. When we’re done with Henry’s schedule and the other paperwork I’ll give you a tour.”

“Sounds great,” Emma hummed, glancing around. It seemed like any other school she’d been in. A little older, even than the Boston schools Henry and Audrey attended, but it was that same sickly-sweet charming that the rest of Storybrooke seemed to have.

Olivia’s office seemed normal though, and Emma felt herself relax slightly as she began rapidly typing on her computer.

“Alright then, Henry. I received your records a few minutes ago from Boston - ”

“That quickly?” Emma interrupted. “Sorry, I just didn’t expect them to be working on a Sunday.”

Olivia shrugged. “When something like this pops up, sometimes the system actually moves like we want it to. Anyway, his records and notes from his teachers indicate he’s a fan of art, is that right?”

Henry nodded. “It’s my favorite class. And I was in a special art camp this summer.”

“That’s wonderful, Henry! I think I have an opening in the perfect class.” A few more clicks of her keyboard, the sound of a printer, and she was sliding a schedule across the desk. “You’ll be in Miss Blanchard’s class. She does lots of art projects during her lessons to help students learn in a unique way.”

“We met her yesterday!” Henry chirped. “She seemed really nice.”

Emma couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief, knowing Henry would be with Mary-Margaret. “She did. She was volunteering at the hospital when we brought Audrey in.”

“Oh! Yes, that’s right, I heard about Audrey’s return. It’s a miracle, really. She’s been gone as long as I can remember…” Olivia trailed off, seemingly lost in thought, before the bright smile returned as she reached into her desk. “So here’s some information on the schools, and a map for Henry in case he needs it. You can find the pieces for the uniform pretty much anywhere, so don’t worry about that. Although, I will need his size for the sweater.”

Henry soured a little at the mention of a uniform.

“He’s a medium,” Emma said.

Olivia nodded, rising to her feet. “I’ll grab one out of storage while we’re on our tour, if you’re ready?”

“Let’s do it.”

“The main menu for lunch rotates every day, and we’re lucky to have a local farmer that donates much of the produce we use,” Olivia explained as they wandered past a display of science fair projects. “Kids are welcome to eat inside or outside, weather permitting, and we have monitors in both areas.”

“That’s cool! We weren’t allowed to eat lunch outside in Boston,” Henry explained.

Emma couldn’t help but raise a brow. “How’d you swing the farmer donating produce to the school?”

“Well, it helps that he’s married to be one of our teachers,” Olivia explained with a laugh. “Daphne teaches high school, so maybe in a few years Henry will be in her class. Or maybe Audrey. I’m going to be taking her schedule and information to the hospital later.”

“I can take it to her, if you want. Henry and I are going to the hospital later this afternoon,” Emma offered.

Olivia hummed, tapping her finger against her cheek. “Well, since you are technically listed as Audrey’s parent on her school records, that will be fine. I’ll get her schedule and information settled when we head back to the office. Do you happen to know what size she wears?”

“Sounds like a plan. And she’s a medium as well.”

“I’ll get her sweater when we grab Henry’s. Miss Blanchard’s room is - oh, it looks like she’s here. That’s strange,” Olivia frowned as they approached the open classroom door. “Mary-Margaret?”

Something thudded to the ground, and there was a startled yelp.

“Superintendent Jackson! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were here too.”

“I’m showing Mrs. Cassidy and her son around… what brings you here?”

“I’ve been looking for my credit card. I tore my apartment apart but it’s nowhere to be found. So I thought I would check here.”

Olivia blinked. “Oh, I see. I’ll run the security tapes and see if anything’s come up. Nothing has been turned in at the Lost and Found, but that doesn’t mean no one has it.”

“Thank you, Olivia. I appreciate it.”

Emma kept a hand on Henry’s shoulder as they lingered in the doorway. “Hi, Mary-Margaret, I don’t know if you remember - ”

Mary-Margaret smiled slightly. “You’re the family from the hospital. What brings you to the schools though?”

“You’re my new teacher,” Henry announced, glancing around the classroom. “Which one is going to be my desk?”

“I’m - sorry?” Mary-Margaret asked, stepping back as Henry pushed further into the room. “His new teacher?”

Emma sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry about that. We’re uh, moving to Storybrooke. He was put in your class.”

“Oh! Well come on in then. I’ll get you caught up on what we’re learning about. Henry, this will be your desk right here,” she said, guiding Henry to a desk near the window. “I’ve been teaching them how to build birdhouses. It helps with building empathy and their math skills.”

“Combining art and math. I wish I had a teacher like you when I was growing up. Maybe I would actually like math,” Emma joked.

Mary-Margaret gave her a weak smile. “Math isn’t my favorite subject either, but just know if Henry finds he’s struggling, the high school has a great tutoring program.”

“You guys sure thought of everything,” Emma remarked.

“Well, we figured it’d be a good way for the older kids to earn a little credit, and help the younger students out. It’s also part of the after-school program.”

Emma smiled. “That all sounds great. It’s really making me feel better that Henry’s still going to get a good education, even if we’re not in Boston.”

“Storybrooke is… like a fairytale, Mrs. Cassidy. We may be small, but we prioritize education,” Olivia explained. “Shall we continue the tour?”

Why did her phrasing sound so odd to Emma? Still, she managed a smile. “Sounds good. C’mon kid.”

They saw the playground, the computer lab, and the library before Olivia led them to a small shop area. “And here we are. Two medium Storybrooke sweaters.” They were presented as if they were made of gold, which had Emma biting back a laugh as she took them. “We’ll just get Audrey’s paperwork all settled and that’ll be it. Unless you had any further questions?”

Emma wracked her brain. “No, I think that’s it. But I’ll contact you if I think of anything.”

“Fantastic,” Olivia said, returning to the office and setting up the same paperwork and schedule for Audrey. “It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Cassidy. We’ll see you tomorrow at 8:30 sharp then, Henry?”

“Yes Miss Jackson.”

Emma guided him out of the office, hearing Olivia answer a phone call as they disappeared down the hall.

“Lacey, what’s up? Yeah I can…”

---

Madalena was going to kill Rumplestiltskin if she ever got out of here.

No. When she got out of here. Because she would get out of here, of course. She was the Dark Queen Madalena after all! She could get out of here on her own… even if she had failed so far and she had no idea exactly how long she had even been trapped in this godforsaken book.

Her Handsome Hero. What a dumb name for a book. What a ridiculous idea for a plot.

If she had to watch Gideon the Great cut a spider in half one more time, she was going to scream.

And she had screamed multiple times already.

The worst part of living in a book was there being no plot for Madalena. The author hadn’t put a Queen Madalena in it, so she was relegated to being in the back of crowd scenes, completely ignored and unable to do anything to end the sieges that plagued this village.

Not that she wanted to be a hero, of course. No, Madalena just wanted to save her own skin and had been caught in the crossfire one too many times.

“Fear not, Duchess Prudence, I, Gideon, shall slay the evil Sorceress!” the hero of the story says, dramatically flourishing his hands.

Madelena rolled her eyes and made a face. Just once, she’d like to be able to turn Gideon or one of the other townspeople into a toad, or a dog, or something. Anything to make this more bearable.

“Madalena?” a voice suddenly said from above. That wasn’t right, and suddenly everything froze. “I don’t recall you being in the story before.”

“Hello?!”

Why could she move? Who was that voice? It was new, didn’t come from any of the stale creatures around her… had someone from the real world finally picked up the book?

“Madalena, I free you from these pages.”

She didn’t have time to think before she felt herself being yanked up, landing hard on a carpeted floor.

“Oh gods, are you okay?” came the same voice, only this time, it was much closer.

Madelena felt the world tilting for a moment, before everything stilled and she lifted her head from the carpet, heaving in deep breaths and staring down at her hands. Free. She was… free? She pushed herself up into a sitting position, feeling the world tilt slightly again as she glanced around the room.

She knew this place. Rumplestiltskin’s library.

She was free.

“Erm… hello?” the voice asked again, and Madelena jumped, glancing over. “Sorry, are you okay?”

That was a loaded question. Was she okay?

“I…” her voice was raspy. “How long… was I in there?”

“I don’t know… you’re Madalena of Keburg, aren’t you?”

Her head shot over to the young woman who had spoken, eyes wide. They still spoke of her? Good. Then it must not have been all that long.

“I am. They deposed me two years ago.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and Madalena’s heart sank. “No… not two years ago. They just celebrated their Decade of Peace.”

Decade? Decade?!

“I’ve been in that book for eight years…” Madalena whispered. “Oh my gods…”

“I’m glad I got you out of there. What happened?”

Madalena rose to her feet, brushing invisible lint off her gown. “That bastard Rumplestiltskin locked me in there. All I wanted to do was learn some dark magic to take control of a kingdom, that’s not too much to ask for, right?”

“Er… I’m probably not the best person to ask about that, but you’re not the only evil queen in the realm.”

“Oh, no, please don’t call me evil, just dark,” Madalena said, raising a brow. “Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Belle. I’m Rumplestiltskin’s housekeeper.”

“May the gods have mercy on you then,” Madalena said, rubbing her head. “Thank you for freeing me, Belle.”

“You should hurry and get out of here. Rumplestiltskin will be home any moment.”

Madalena nodded, raising her hand to disappear, before she paused. “I don’t know where to go. I can’t go back to Keburg, I can’t stay in this kingdom…”

“I think you’ll find allies here if you stay off Rumplestiltskin’s radar. He’s not exactly the most popular man here. Now hurry, go!”

“Thank you again for freeing me, Belle. I’ll make sure to leave you in peace when I come to power,” Madalena said, vanishing in a cloud of black smoke. Where she would go, she didn’t know, but if what Belle said was true, perhaps there was a chance for her to find allies.

Maybe she could take down Rumplestiltskin and take his place.

That might be nice.

She landed in the middle of the woods, on some sort of carriage path. No matter which direction she looked, she couldn’t see Rumplestiltskin’s castle. Hopefully, that meant she was far enough away. Now all she had to do was find some food or shelter. Or, find some people to give her food and shelter. She was still a queen after all… even if she had fallen.

A small village wasn’t too far from where she’d landed, and Madalena sighed, pushing herself into the nearest pub.

“The next round is on me!” a man shouted, lifting an empty stein into the air. “Grimsund shall prosper once again!”

There was a roar from the crowd, and Madalena gasped as a mug was shoved into her hand from the nearest barmaid.

“Oh, I - ”

“No need to worry, Prince James paid for this round,” she said with a grin. “He’s just come back from a giant hunt.”

A prince, huh?

Madalena could work with that.

“Thank you, then,” she said to the barmaid. “Is that him over there?”

“Aye, that’s him, but if you think you’ve got a chance with him, you may want to temper your expectations. The rumor is he’s got a different woman in his bed every month,” she explained. “Truth is, I don’t know if he’ll ever commit to one woman, even if the king forces an arrangement.”

Ah, so it was that sort of deal, hm? Fine. Madalena could take out the competition.

“I see, thank you kindly,” she said, sipping at her beer before sauntering over to the prince and dropping into the seat across from him.

He raised a brow. “And who might you be.”

“I might be Queen Madalena of Keburg, I might be just a figment of your imagination,” she smirked.

James furrowed his brow. “Weren’t you deposed?”

“Details, details.”

James looked her up and down. “Well, what can I do for fellow royalty?”

“That’s just it. I’m not exactly royal anymore, and I just spent eight years trapped in a book thanks to the Dark One. As much as I hate to do this, I need help.”

Setting his much on the table, James leaned forward. “And what can you do for me?”

Madalena waved her hand, magic gathering in it. “What do you need?”

---

“Here you go, Emma, grilled cheese and onion rings. Hey - you alright?” Ruby asked, setting the plate down in front of her.

Emma rubbed her eyes and looked up from the newspaper in front of her. “Yeah, thanks. I’m just trying to find a place for us to live, and it’s not like there are a lot of options here.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re telling me. If there were more affordable houses here, I’d have moved out of the bed and breakfast a long time ago. That, and if Granny would ever let me meet with Victoria…”

The last part was said in a mumble, which had Emma raising a brow. “What do you mean?”

Ruby looked around, before digging through her apron and pulling out a card. “Victoria Belfrey-Polastel. She’s a realtor in town. Wanted to buy Granny’s not too long ago and make it more modern, instead of a dumpy diner and bed and breakfast. Granny hit the roof and refused to ever serve her, but she gave me a card if I ever needed it, but you and your family need it more than I do, so here. Just… don’t tell Granny I told you about her.”

Emma took the card, sliding it into her wallet. “Thanks Ruby. I owe you one.”

“So long as you don’t tell Granny, consider us even.”

And that was how Emma found herself sitting in a way too spotless, modern office that afternoon after making sure Henry didn't need anything.

Seriously, was this Victoria thinking she was selling to celebrities and the too-wealthy in New York City? What was with this place?

“Mrs. Cassidy, welcome.”

Emma briefly considered reminding the woman that her name was Emma, but decided against it. “Thank you for meeting with me. I’m sorry it’s on such short notice.”

“Oh no need to apologize for something like that! This is my job after all, and it’s not often I get a client with a family that needs to be moved. Everyone here just seems to be so settled that they never go anywhere. But what sort of house were you and your family looking for?” Victoria said, flourishing a pen and smoothing out the notepad in front of her.

Emma paused. What were they looking for in a house? They hadn’t had many options when it came to apartments, aside from the location and the spectacular front door that Emma was going to miss.

“Er… at least three bedrooms, although four would be ideal, I guess, so Neal and I can have an office,” she started, running her tongue along her teeth in an attempt to think. “Maybe a nice yard. We’re from Boston and our son has never had a yard to play in.”

Victoria was nodding, scribbling away. “I have two daughters. I get it.”

“Maybe something updated? I don’t know if we can handle moving all of our stuff and finding out the house needs new floors or a new bathroom.”

“Ah!” Victoria suddenly said, tossing the pen onto her desk and rapidly typing on her computer. “I have the perfect house for you, Mrs. Cassidy. 715 Tenth Street. Four bedrooms, two bathrooms, nicely updated and a large backyard. It’s an updated Victorian, and one of the best Storybrooke can offer. We can drive over now, if you want to see it?”

Emma nodded, her throat dry.

But Victoria was right, 715 Tenth Street was what she would call perfect for that family, and she signed on the dotted line in the spotless kitchen - her kitchen, and blinked in shock as Victoria passed her the keys.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Cassidy.”

#ouat #once upon a time #swanfire #home is wherever i'm with you

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mostlycompetentwriter · 5 years ago

Text

Treasure- Part 1

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Kim Hongjoong (Ateez)

Word Count: 3,565

Genre: Fantasy AU, Pirate AU

Warnings: Language, Violence, Some Smut, Mentions of Blood

Summary: For her entire life, Y/N has always been at the disposal of the men who treat her like she’s less than human. Her father was an alcoholic and her mother is unable to support the two of them after his death. Years later, Y/N feels stuck and there’s nothing worse than feeling trapped in your own home. However, after being kidnapped by a gang of ruthless pirates, Y/N finally gets her first chance of freedom and she very much likes the way it tastes even if that means playing with the heart of the notorious pirate captain whose affections become more and more obvious every day.

When I was younger, my mother told me stories about the ocean goddess Amphitrite whose husband, Poseideon, commanded the endless tides and waves. She was a jealous lover, envious of the women Posideon would often bed, resulting in demigod children which he treasured and kept safely hidden away from his wife’s thirst for vengeance. But children can only be controlled for as long as their curiosity remains sated, choosing the comfort of land instead of that deep-spirited desire to return to the water. Eventually, his demigod children could no longer resist the call and that’s when Amphitrite would rise from the deepest trenches, commanding the ocean to overhaul boats of brave sailors, thunderous power splitting the ships in half while the demigod children lose themselves to their father’s perilous domain.

But Posideon grew angry with Amphitrite’s actions, demanding that she leave his children alone or else she would be banished to the Underworld where his ruthless brother Hades prevailed. Bitter and disappointed, Amphitrite sought a new solution to the problem of her husband’s illicit affairs. Amphitrite decided to try her luck on land and she lived amongst the humans for many years. One day, while she was wandering a distant shore, Amphitrite fell in love with a gorgeous sailor whose long, silky hair and endless sea-green eyes commanded her deepest affections. The sailor, who never realized her true identity, also fell for the mysterious way he felt drawn to the woman who climbed aboard his ship. He promised that he would do anything to please Amphitrite and the clever goddess requested that the sailor track and kill the children of her unsuspecting husband. So, with a crew at hand, the love-struck sailor spent years at sea burning the ships of Poseidon’s demigod children, earning him the nickname of “Pirate” for his bloodthirsty crimes at the behest of Amphitrite....

“I think that’s enough for one night,” my mother would say, noticing the way my eyes grew wider despite the fact that I was meant to be sleeping.

“Are there pirates here?” I would often ask my mother once she was finished.

“They’re only stories, my dearest,” my mother would reply, holding me close at night while my gaze wandered the darkness, searching out the window with a mixture of fear and trepidation, wondering if a pirate would sneak through the window with blood dripping from his blade.

But that was my childhood and, as the years slowly passed away, those stories grew as distant as my memories, lost to the powerful effects of time. I grew as tall as my mother, discovering her features whenever I would look into a mirror. I also inherited her passion for storytelling and would often sit on the hills overlooking the brilliant sea imagining myself exploring the distant lands that the maps at school promised would hold all sorts of possibilities.

Sadly, my dreams of leaving the island became less and less of a possibility as the realities of life replaced the fantastical wanderings of my imagination. When my father eventually died and left me alone to deal with my despondent mother who could no longer take care of herself. She would usually sit in the living room throughout the day, looking out the window at nothing in particular. It was a miracle to hear her speak, and I knew that my mother had become nothing more than a shell of her former self. To take care of us, I was forced to leave school which only dampened my curiosity in the study of Astronomy and the brilliant stars that always inspired me when I was younger.

I would always miss my youth because now, at the tender age of 21, I had nothing left of the Spirit that once fueled my every hope and desire. I walked through each day dreading the possibility of another, watching everyone else around me move through their lives like the waves washing up on the beach, there at one instant and then gone the next. Leaving for a distant land in the small ships that frequently visited our small island. But nobody liked to stay forever because the human instinct to explore and conquer was present in every man and woman. Sadly, I’d never get the chance to satisfy mine.

Trapped here, like the fish brought in at high tide, to suffer through an endless cycle, wishing to escape to the stars because only then could I be truly free.

“You’re a little slut, aren’t you?” the heavy-set man groaned at my ear, thick hips pounding against mine with bruising power.

“I’ll be whatever you want,” I responded robotically, gazing at the ceiling and creating constellations out of the boards.

It was the same every night, depending on what sort of customers were drawn into the hostel. The owner, an older gentleman with greasy, balding hair, would accept payment for our services, setting aside a gold token or two if he was feeling generous towards his whores which only ever happened when the place was full. Our best customers were merchant ships full of drunk and horny sailors looking to forget about their unfortunate circumstances and stick their uncut cocks into whatever comfortable hole they could find.

“It’s good business,” the owner would croon, gathering us girls together around him. “My sluts make me good money.”

I would always hold my tongue at the term because, despite the fact that it was true, the connotation still struck a nerve, especially considering how my father had treated my mother. He would often come home at night completely wasted, slapping my mother like she meant absolutely nothing to him. Yelling obscenities while requesting that his slut get him something else to drink.

My father had passed away years ago, but my mother took his loss a lot more than I was expecting considering his treatment towards her. Her eyes lost the light I had cherished as a child, spending her days gazing out the window in my father’s old armchair while I was forced to find work. And those young girls like me who were unable to stay in school on the island could always find work at a whorehouse, selling her body for enough money to buy food and pay rent. That’s all that mattered to me for survival, but it still didn’t satisfy my wildest imaginations, dreaming of escaping to a place far away from this horrible island.

My client for the evening let out a deep-throated moan, cumming inside and I winced when I felt him lean down to kiss my forehead, the gesture far too intimate for my comfort. “I’d buy you again a heartbeat,” he told me sincerely while I impatiently waited for my shift to finally end.

I was usually a lot stricter about the type of contact I allowed. However, these days, I usually endured far more than I used to back when I was still new to the services required of me. Skittish around the older men touching my body or afraid to even ask the other girls for advice. I’m sure some of those clients took advantage of my innocence, but that had since worn off and I was nothing if not completely stoic when it came time to satisfy another customer.

I was still often ignored by the other girls, especially since men usually preferred me because of my younger age. There was only so much that makeup could hide before the body itself bore its secrets in the wrinkles creasing one’s forehead or the bulging veins in a girl’s thighs and arms. My body was still soft, enjoying the effects of youth before those looks would inevitably become lost to a steady decline.

But then again, most men didn’t care since they were usually drunk and reeking of desperation when they entered the hostel. “Sell me your best,” they would often request of my boss to which he would simply signal whichever girl happened to be closest at the time. It was always unfortunate when it was someone simply looking to negotiate their pay so that they could feed their family.

I walked down the stairs from my room with heavy steps while trying to ignore the new ache between my thighs. Carefully, I avoided the lingering patrons while taking a seat at the bar. Someone had discarded a glass from earlier, but I didn’t care about whose lips might have touched the rim, downing the rest of the nasty-smelling liquid without care. “Don’t look so down, kid, you’re too young for wrinkles.”

I offered Wendy, the kind hostel bartender, a small smile. “Any news on how many ships are coming into port tonight?”

“Heard a lot of rumors today,” she said, toweling off another glass. “It might be a pretty busy night. You know that makes the boss happy.”

“But it also means a long shift for me,” I said. “I can only handle a few old bastards a night before I feel completely numb in my legs.”

“Try stretching,” she suggested. “Good business means you might get paid more.”

“Still won’t be enough,” I said, barely acknowledging one of the other hostel workers who had suddenly joined us at the bar.

“Sounds like someone should have stayed at home if she ain’t on her best game,” her nasal voice informed me.

“I don’t do much of the work.”

A snort of laughter. “That’s true. You might be the best of us at spreading those pretty thighs.”

I gritted my teeth together as I signaled for Wendy to refill my glass. “This coming from someone who’s always chosen last by the clientele.”

Barbara paused next to me, spine rigid. “Watch your mouth, little girl. We don’t talk that way to anyone, got it?”

“Whatever,” I muttered darkly, eyes narrowing as more men started to walk into the hostel, eyes shiny with evidence of their desires which I would have the obligation of fulfilling.

“Work hard,” Barbara snapped at me before wandering out onto the main floor sporting her best smile.

I glowered in her direction, surveying the crowd with disinterest. “There’s a big group,” Wendy remarked, nodding at the door.

I spun around in my chair, holding tightly to my glass as I discovered the boisterous crowd of relatively young sailors who had just entered the hostel. It was a large group of men, clothed in ragged attire barely held together by worn stitching, black-toed boots scuffing the floors. They were loud and obnoxious, clearly oblivious to decorum. They wore matching black masks and hats, overcoats thick as they carried themselves with an air of superiority. “They don’t look like regular sailors,” I remarked loosely to Wendy, unaware of the consequences of my words until a few moments later when the leader of the group suddenly confronted my boss who had been talking with a few regulars.

“How many do you have here?” the masked man demanded, flaming red hair contrasting with his pale skin.

“H-how many of what?” my boss asked, cowering back as he took in the sight of the gangly crew.

“Whores,” the red-head said, surveying the hostel with interest, eyes pausing on me for longer than I would have liked.

“Tonight?” my boss spluttered. “I got six working the floor.”

“We’ll take all of them,” the red-head said.

“I don’t know if I have enough rooms to accommodate that many pairings! If you could just-”

“Not here,” the red-head sighed impatiently, turning to look at one of his partners. “Am I not speaking English, San?”

“It sounds like it to me,” the one named San pondered, gaze thoughtful as he considered my boss. “Did you not hear him, old man? Give us all of your whores.”

“W-where would you take them?”

“Onboard, obviously,” the red-head snapped. “The crew needs some new entertainment.”

“They got bored of the last ones,” a deeper voice joined the fray belonging to someone whose eyes crinkled at the sides with mischief. He was undoubtedly smiling beneath that unusual disguise.

“Hurry up, Mingi, Captain’s not gonna wait all night!”

“Those girls aren’t leaving this hostel,” my boss said, standing straighter even as his shoulders fell against the heavy gaze of Mingi, tall form looming in a dominant fashion.

In a split second, Mingi pulled a gun from the belt around his waist, aiming directly at my boss’ head. The entire hostel grew silent, all eyes watching the impending situation with fear evident in their dilated irises. “What did you say?”

“Alright, alright,” my boss said, waving his hands like a lunatic. “You can use them for one night.”

BANG!

I heard a distant squeal when his body finally hit the floor, but I was too caught up in my unexpected self-satisfaction at seeing my slimy boss bleeding out against the wood I had spent hours cleaning last night. “He said six,” Mingi growled, glancing back at his men. “Take whichever six you want, including her,” he said, pointing in my direction. “We can save her for the captain.”

His words were the catalyst for the sudden action of the other men, swords drawn from their scabbards as they ran at the crowd with excited cheers as if the prospect of attacking innocent civilians was too much to anticipate. Screams filled the hostel, men and women alike running in opposite directions in their desperation to escape. “Pirates!” someone shouted and the word sent a shiver down my spine as I met the gaze of the man who had murdered my boss in cold blood.

“The Captain will like you a lot, girl,” Mingi said, nodding appreciatively as he openly appraised me like I was particularly worthy of his attention. Around us, the other girls were sobbing and pleading, struggling in the grasps of the pirates who had since taken them hostage, pulling them towards the door of the hostel which I once associated with long nights struggling to sell my body to the highest bidder. “Are you gonna give me a hard time like your friends?”

“They aren’t my friends,” I retorted coldly, surprising the pirate standing before me.

“You’ll be coming with us.”

“I understand,” I said calmly, gazing out across the now mostly vacant hostel, a few bodies littering the floors covered in blood. “I’ll go with you.”

Mingi smirked, gripping tightly to my upper arm even though it wasn’t necessary, leading me out into the chaotic streets like I was nothing more than a common dog for him to command. The island itself was a complete mess, townspeople running through the streets cursing and yelling, trash loitering the sidewalks, children mindlessly glancing around with wide, confused eyes. And through it all I managed to keep myself together, vaguely wondering what my mother might be doing at that moment. But it never crossed my mind to beg this pirate to allow me one last chance to see her. It didn’t matter that my mother depended on me to take care of her because, for a fleeting second, I could only think about how unfair it was that I was stuck with a mother like her who could no longer protect me from harm

The dock was glowing in the distance, lanterns lighting the worn pathways leading to different ships anchored at port. I had only been to the docks a few times in my life, mostly to help my former boss whenever the hostel received a large delivery. Nevertheless, it still managed to fill me with a sick feeling of hope that maybe one day I could find myself a ship willing to take me far away from the island. Somewhere warm and inviting where I could study Astronomy and remember all the delicate patterns I had once memorized when I was still a young and impressionable child.

Of course, being kidnapped against my will was certainly not the way I envisioned leaving the island, especially when it involved pirates. I studied Mingi from the corner of my eyes. How many people has he killed? Would I be just another body to add to his list?

Such questions were useless to consider because fear was the last emotion I needed to feed into right now, paralyzed with the wide-eyed desire to run or fight and protect myself. I would stand no chance with these pirates, especially Mingi who was taller and strong, leading me to a ship that stood in contrast to the others anchored down. The ship in question, with the name “Precious” painted onto the side of the hull, was larger than any boat I had ever seen docked at the bay. It was actually quite beautiful, dark sails trembling in the breeze while the forlorn flag at the highest point indicated that it belonged to the pirate order. But that was just the ironic contradiction of the ship because despite its outward appearance, the men who commanded her wheel were nothing short of barbaric. A nasty breed of man who plundered the seas and killed without remorse.

I stumbled up the narrow plank, glaring at Mingi from the corner of my eye as he continued to push me onboard. The other girls were already kneeling, hands tied behind their backs as they suffered from various states of undress. I glanced down at my disheveled skirts, grateful that they at least covered my legs. “This one is for the Captain.”

“But she’s the youngest!” another voice complained, glaring almost enviously at the other girls.

“For. The. Captain,” Mingi repeated, jerking me to the right. “You can do whatever you want to the rest of them.”

I glanced back over my shoulder, wincing when I saw one of the pirates dig his fingers tightly into Barbara’s dark hair. “You should be grateful,” Mingi growled at me. “The Captain doesn’t like to share.”

“I don’t feel grateful,” I hissed back at him, completely unprepared for the accompanying slap as my head twisted to the side.

“You won’t talk to me that way,” Mingi said, shoving me against the wall, fingers tightening around my throat. My lungs were screaming for air, toes hovering above the deck, hands scratching against his impossible hold. I was gasping, desperate for air while my mind screamed at me to fight back, but I was powerless against his predominant strength.

“Is this one mine?”

My feet landed on the floor and I dropped to my knees, breathing in the air like it was the last time I might be able to do so. “It might not be worth it, Captain,” Mingi spat. “She’s got a mouth on her.”

“Is that so?”

I was slowly recovering from my temporary brush with death, lifting my gaze to locate the mysterious Captain I was now meant to serve. He wasn’t as tall as Mingi, but he was somehow far more intimidating, wearing all black from the mask hiding his face to the boots echoing against the deck. His hair was a strawberry color, delicately framing an angular face that might be handsome if it didn’t belong to such a despicable person. “Tell me your name, whore,” he demanded.

I swallowed hard against the raw ache in my throat. “Y/N.”

The Captain nodded. “Mingi, you can leave the two of us now. Go enjoy the other girls.”

Mingi obeyed, albeit reluctantly as he trained those suspicious eyes on my recovering form. “Aye, sir.”

I watched him as he walked away, fingers massaging my still-tender throat. “Does it hurt?”

I carefully considered the Captain. “He tried to kill me.”

“You shouldn’t mouth off,” the Captain said, nodding towards a door. “Come inside.” I bit my tongue, withholding a sharp retort as I did as he directed, brushing off my skirts. “My private quarters,” he said, shrugging off his thick overcoat while I examined the dozens of candles lining the mantlepiece.

“Will the others be hurt?”

He paused at my question. “Does it matter? You can’t do anything to help them.”

“I just want to help myself,” I told him honestly, brushing my fingers across a rather ancient looking bookcase.

“Then this should be easy,” the Captain said, tearing off his mask. “You can be good for me while I fuck you.”

I took a moment to admire the Captain’s features, far more delicate than I was anticipating with dark, thoughtful eyes. “I’ve been doing that my whole life, Captain.”

He smirked. “Then this should be second-nature to you.”

I bristled at the insinuation. “Maybe I’m tired of being treated like a whore.”

“Why else do you think you were brought onto this ship?” the Captain asked, tone growing hostile.

“I was forced to come aboard,” I said. “By that bumbling idiot who tried to kill me.”

“And I could do the same,” the Captain said, drawing a gun from the holster hanging off his belt. “Get on the bed.”

“I’d rather die,” I told him honestly, staring down the silver weapon to meet the Captain’s narrowed eyes. “Kill me instead.”

A chuckle escaped from between his lips. “So that’s what you want? I could always force you.”

“I’d fight back.”

“But I’m quite strong, love,” he said with a barely distinguishable accent.

“It wouldn’t be easy for you,” I said. “Didn’t you say you wanted someone easy?”

The Captain was quiet for a long time before he re-holstered his gun, crossing his arms in a closed-off manner. “Then perhaps a few nights in the brig will change your mind.”

#ateez fanfic #ateez smut #kim hongjoong #kim hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong fanfic #hongjoong smut

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queenbirbs · 4 years ago

Text

the way home | Ch. 1 | Edward x MC

Pairing: Edward Mortemer x MC

Word count: 2,048

Summary: In which traveling to the past is only half the battle; or: Elena finds her way back.

Warnings: language

Notes: This series is complete. I’ll be posting chapters on here and over on AO3. Title taken from Tony Anderson’s The Way Home. Continue on to chapter two.

Inspired by @choicesmonthlychallenge day 16 prompt “tick tock / time.”

------

“You heard what my colleague said.” Robert’s voice sounds from the backseat, pulling her from her study of the countryside. “If this doesn’t work, then we may get stuck somewhere else with no--”

“Fuck that,” Elena cuts him off. “It’s going to work.”

He rolls his eyes at her in the rearview mirror, but says nothing more. They’ve spent enough time together over the last two years that he’s learned when to stop bothering with trying to change her mind.

“Damn straight it better work,” her sister Gabby says around a mouthful of sour gummy worms. “I didn’t put two-thousand miles on my car for you all to get skunked.”

Robert makes a face at the unusual term. “Are you forgetting that if we get caught then you’re an accessory before the fact?” he points out.

“Yeah, but that won’t really affect my trade-in value, now, will it?”

Up ahead along the highway, a yellow sign reads: Welcome to New Mexico; Land of Enchantment. With Colorado in the rearview now, Elena pushes out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart as the pockmarked landscape passes in a blur.

She’s tired of having her fate sealed, printed onto expensive cardstock, and ogled by museum-goers. What a life she led! How tragic, though, about Captain Mortemer spending all that time searching for her! the people at the museum tut and shake their heads before moving on to the next room. Elena’s tired of coming back home, of staring at that portrait of him and wondering if it’s the last she would ever see of him.

During their four trips to the past, she’d managed to find Edward only twice. Though she was glad to be leaving it behind, there was something to be said about the ease of communication in the twenty-first century. After their last return, Elena and Robert didn’t bother with the faulty compass or time anomalies. Every deadend, every long night of research, and every weekend trip to scope out a lead was for the assurance that this would be their final voyage to the past. There would be no more time-hopping, no more disappearing for months at a time. With each stone they overturned, there was hope that it would bring them here. Here, she bemuses, to the long stretch of empty highway between southern Colorado and northern New Mexico.

The trip to South Dakota had been a last-ditch effort. Robert’s old colleague from Oxford let him know about a warehouse hidden away in the Badlands, rumored to house hundreds of artifacts -- including the one they were after. Convincing Gabby to be their getaway driver was the hardest part; putting on a show of being a damsel in distress with a broken-down car and incapacitating the guards was much easier, in Elena’s opinion.

Under her touch, the artifact in her hand glows the same eerie shade of blue as the compass. The whistle is a tarnished gold, engraved with the initials of a sailor who escaped H.M.S. Fletcher after its sinking off Cape Horn in 1890. News articles about the event were vague. The sailor’s diary, however, detailed his two days trapped in an air pocket, blowing his whistle desperately for help, and suddenly appearing on the shore eight years in the past. The only corroboration was the event log of a fisherman who watched the man “step out of thin air.” By all accounts, the tale was nothing more than a fantastical story.

They reach Urraca Mesa with plenty of light left -- surprising, given that they were forced to hike around the scout ranch that owns the property. The mesa glows crimson in the afternoon sun, towering above them as they make their way up the trail. Elena’s duffel bag smacks against her thigh with every step. Along the next rise, Robert stops and consults his map with a scowl.

“The lodestone minerals makes navigating this place a pain in the arse,” he grumbles as his compass refuses to cooperate. The needle jerks back and forth, never settling on a clear direction.

“Does it have to be exactly on the ley line?” Elena asks, fidgeting with her bag’s strap to move it to a less sweat-drenched part of her back.

“Of course it does. That’s why we drove all the way down here in the first place. The electromagnetic energy is at its peak along--”

“Okay, okay!” Gabby interrupts. “How about we try something else: do you have the exact coordinates?”

“Yes, but a compass doesn’t work like that.”

“Yeah, but a phone does,” she snaps back, tugging her phone from her backpack. “Lemme have ‘em.”

“We’re too far out of range for cell service.”

“Maybe, but it’s worth a shot.”

Robert sighs, then flips his map over for the coordinates scribbled on the back. Gabby’s fingers fly across her screen. Within a minute, the automated voice is telling them to continue south for 256 feet.

“Verizon,” she offers at his look of surprise.

You have arrived at your destination! the phone announces as they come to a copse of trees underneath the mesa’s shadow. Elena isn’t sure she really believes in all of Robert’s theories about magnetic fields, but there’s something different here. An odd sensation tingles down her spine and through her fingers, as if she’s touching a live wire. The smell of ozone is heavy, as if a tremendous rain fell moments ago, though the desert is bone-dry.

“Well?” Robert motions to the whistle in her hand.

She lifts the whistle to her lips and blows. Its shrill cry pierces the air, the mesa’s steep walls echoing the noise. At first, nothing. Then, as if ripping a seam through the fabric of reality, a portal cleaves the open air before them. That blinding blue-and-white color shimmers before them.

“Holy fuck.” Gabby grabs her arm and squeezes. “You-- you weren’t making this shit up.”

At that, Robert turns and lifts an eyebrow at her, a smirk stretching across his face.

“You think we’d make you drive two-thousand miles for a practical joke?”

“I mean, we used to play them on each other growing up,” she says. “But this would be one hell of a trick.”

“No trick,” Elena tells her, turning her attention away from the portal and back to her sister. “But it does mean…” she trails off, her throat too tight to finish the sentence.

With tears welling in her eyes, Gabby throws her arms around her and hauls her in for a tight hug. The portal sparkles against Elena’s closed eyes; tears drip steadily down her face.

“You’re really sweaty,” Gabby complains against her hair, prompting a laugh from her sister. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring anything, because there’s no CVS on the other side.”

“I’ll be okay. I have everything I need. And there’s always the local market.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re stock-full of tampons and condoms.”

Robert clears his throat, gesturing to the portal when both sisters glance over at him.

“I’m sorry, but we really need to go, sooner rather than later. I’m not sure how long the portal will stay open. If it closes, we may not get another chance.”

Elena nods, crushing her sister against her one last time before letting go.

“I know you’ll have a badass sword or whatever, but make sure you use those moves I taught you,” Gabby tells her. “I didn’t close up shop at the gym for a whole day just for you to rely on weapons only.”

“Okay,” Elena nods. “I will.”

“And try to get a message to me. I’ll keep an eye out for any new pirate documents and artifacts. There’s a subreddit I follow that keeps me up-to-date.”

“Okay, I will.”

“And tell that little boy of yours, whenever he comes along, that he has a really cool aunt.”

“Okay,” Elena promises, her voice breaking around the words, “I will.”

Nodding at Robert, she walks with him to the portal’s edge. This close, she can smell the salty wind and feel the humidity of the Caribbean. Glancing back at her sister, she gives her a watery smile.

“Love you,” they say in tandem, prompting the other to chuckle.

After a final wave, Elena turns and links her arm through Robert’s.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

Together, they step into the portal, and the world closes up behind them. For the briefest moment, she glimpses that swirling mass of colors that surrounded the Intrepid during the chase with the Admiral. Then: white sand; a blazing, blue sky; palm trees swaying along the curve of a coastline. The salty wind that she caught the scent of earlier rushes past, a cool balm against her sweaty skin. Across the blue stretch in front of them, ships cruise toward the shore, their sails trimmed for an easy docking. Through the trees to the west, a bustling town sits above a busy port.

“Where are we?” Elena asks, squinting at the buildings to see if she can recognize where they’ve landed.

“Santo Domingo -- though you’d know it as the Dominican Republic,” Robert explains. “That white flag with the odd-looking red ex is a symbol of the Spanish empire. The ships out there are flying the same colors.”

“Okay. Now, more importantly, when are we?” she asks.

“The Spanish ruled this half of Hispaniola between 1697 and 1795.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” she scoffs, “just a hundred-year span of time.”

“Quiet, I’m not finished. Do you notice something off about the buildings? Extensive damage like that isn’t caused by a tropical storm. That would be hurricane-force winds.” As he lectures, he swings the bag on his shoulder round and starts to dig through it. “In 1754, Santo Domingo was hit with what would’ve been a category three hurricane. Twelve ships were lost.”

“That history degree of yours is coming in clutch,” she says, grinning when he scowls at the slang term.

“Our only real way of knowing, of course, is to go into town and find out.”

Pulling a tube from his bag, Robert bends to set it down in front of the portal. She forgot it was there at all, too excited at the prospect of returning home. “I’d advise you to retreat,” he tells her as he backs away, a pistol in his other hand.

Elena heeds his warning and follows him several paces away. She claps her hands over her ears just as Robert pulls the trigger. The gunpowder explodes into a ball of fire, eating away at the portal until it collapses in on itself, blinking from existence.

“So.” Her words sound muffled to her, still ringing from the blast. “That’s why you didn’t want to fly to South Dakota.”

“Not really. I just hate flying.”

“Convenient that you picked a century when airplanes haven’t been invented yet.”

Robert grins at her and shrugs, though the jovial expression drops from his face as he gestures to the whistle, still clutched in her hand.

“For the next item on the agenda, you need to get rid of that.”

“What? No!” Elena takes a step back and holds it against her chest.

“Elena--”

“Not until I find Edward. If we went too far in time, then this was all for nothing.”

He settles his hands on his hips and shakes his head at her.

“If you hold onto that, you’ll be drawing unwanted attention to yourself. There are those that can… sense power in objects. You’d be wise to toss that thing into the sea.”

“Later,” she snaps, then hesitates, trying to reign in the irritation at his lack of understanding. “Look, I know that for you, your goal is complete: you’re back. But mine isn’t.”

Robert grimaces, glancing away and towards the ocean beyond. Finally, the set of his shoulders loosens and his breath escapes him in a sigh. He digs through the bag at his side for a moment, before pulling out a long, gold chain.

“Here.” He takes the whistle from her and loops it through the chain. “So you don’t lose it in the meantime.”

Elena settles the necklace across her chest; the whistle disappears into the top of her shirt, hidden from view.

“Thanks.”

“Now,” Robert gestures towards the town, “let’s bury these bags and go see about this pirate of yours.”

------

References:

The warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands is a reference to Warehouse 13, a show about a warehouse full of artifacts in the Badlands.

#edward x mc #edward mortemer #distant shores #distant shores fic #august choices challenge #Kaila writes things #f: the way home

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